Letters from Nowhere
by Niente Zero
Summary: While investigating a burglary, Ray and Fraser run across a girl whose foster mother has gone missing. Bad company turns up on the search for the missing woman and the case soon involves tricky international relations down the barrel of a gun.
1. The Lady Vanished

Disclaimer: Don't own / Don't make money / Just want to rokk

Chapter 1 - The Lady Vanished.

"Ray, I need you to tell me you need me."

Detective Raymond Vecchio of the Chicago PD had been having an uneventful morning completing overdue paperwork at his cluttered desk until the phone rang and he heard his unofficial partner, Constable Benton Fraser's dulcet Canadian tones pronounce the startling sentence.

"Well, of course I need you, Benny, I mean..." It was awkward. Guys weren't supposed to have discussions like that, that was what a brief punch on the shoulder was for.

"No, I think you misunderstood me, Ray." The tone was urgent. "I need you to come to the consulate and tell me you need me on a case. Any case. Please?"

"Sure. What's up?" Ray asked.

"It's a long story, but to cut it short, the consulate is going to be playing host to some visiting mounties in Chicago for a conference on crime prevention techniques, and I'd rather not be here when they arrive."

Ray knew of the conference in question; it was likely to be sparsely attended by members of the Chicago PD since it didn't involve a trip to an exotic and perhaps warmer locale.

"So what's the problem? It's not like you haven't played doorman before." Ray said.

"The ah, problem." Fraser hesitated. Ray sat listening to silence, tapping his pen on the desk.

"Yeah, Benny, the problem." he finally said, running out of patience.

"Well, Ray, do you remember Inspector Catherine Wheeler?"

It was a safe bet that Fraser was not pleased to hear a hoot of laughter coming from Ray's end of the line.

The two men had met Inspector Wheeler while assigned as liaisons from Chicago on a case in Canada's North West Territories. She combined all the competency of a mid-level paper pusher with an approach to romance that had the subtlety of a water buffalo in mating season, and she had her eyes on the comely Constable Fraser.

When Ray stopped laughing, he said "All right, all right. I have a burglary to look in on after lunch. I'll swing by and rescue you from the harpy."

Fraser shuddered at the all too apposite classical reference. "Thank you kindly, Ray. I look forward to seeing you."

Ray arrived at the consulate after lunch in time to witness Constable Fraser explaining to his superior officer why he wouldn't be around to greet the VIPs that afternoon. Ever since Inspector Meg Thatcher had arrived in Chicago she had displayed hostility toward her subordinate, although Ray was unclear on quite what prompted the level of her ire.

"Constable Fraser, I know that you are off duty this afternoon, but I can't understand why you won't be flexible and help put the consulate in a good light with our visitors." Thatcher said, in a frosty tone. She was standing in Fraser's tiny office space, effectively trapping him in the room.

"Whatever the Chicago PD wants your help with is undoubtedly less important than setting the right tone for this visit."

"Yes, sir. But..." Fraser gestured vaguely.

"No buts! I can't see any good reason why you can't be here for our guests' arrival."

Ray stood watching the show. He and the Inspector did not enjoy a particularly good rapport. He might speak up, but not until Fraser ran out of things to say.

"Well, sir." Fraser looked at his feet. It irritated him how easily he became flustered in the presence of his superior officer. There was just something about her that put him on the defensive, watching every word he said.

"As you might be aware, before your arrival, I was assigned to a high profile case back home. I worked with Inspector Wheeler, and, uh, she and I, well. We didn't form the best-. What I'm trying to say is. Sir, I would rather not-"

Inspector Thatcher clucked impatiently. She had read Fraser's file and was aware that he had worked with Inspector Wheeler, and she could sympathize with Wheeler. The man was frequently infuriating. No doubt he had done something completely inscrutable but remarkably annoying to get on this Wheeler's nerves. And why was he turning that alarming shade of red?

Ray decided it was time to intervene.

"Hey, Inspector, hey, Frase, ready to roll? Criminals to catch. No time to stand around." He smiled broadly but insincerely at Thatcher.

Fraser looked hopefully at Thatcher.

"Oh, fine. Go." she said. She wasn't sure why she'd given in. It couldn't be the wounded puppy look in his eyes. She was getting soft. "But remember you need to be back this evening for the formal reception."

"Yes, sir!" Fraser saluted, and marched at double time out of the office.

The apartment building where the burglary Ray was assigned to had taken place was a low three story block in a depressing beige concrete design scheme. Around it were other similarly grim looking apartment buildings, and a number of small convenience stores, dry cleaners and take-out restaurants with signs in English and Cyrillic. The neighborhood had a tired air, a sense that things had been the same way for decades and weren't likely to liven up any time soon.

The interview with the residents of the burgled apartment, on the second floor of the building, was slow. An elderly couple, they appeared frightened and hesitant to talk to the police, even though their apartment had been turned upside down. The husband's English was better than the wife's, but it took a generous helping of Benton's patience to leaven Ray's frustration at how little information the man was prepared to part with.

"Waste of time." Ray said, as they turned down the green painted corridor leading away from the small apartment. "You can tell they don't want to talk to outsiders."

"I agree, Ray." Benton said, with a wry twist of his lips. "They seemed to be afraid of us, just because of our position of authority. I imagine it must be hard to lose habits learned in a police state." He twisted his hat in his hands. "However, it will make it difficult to locate the perpetrator of this particular crime."

The two men made their way toward the stairs. Ray was turning to descend when he noticed Benton was no longer with him. At the end of the corridor, where the light-bulb in the overhead light was burned out, Benton had noticed a human figure sitting with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

Benton crouched down beside the young woman.

"Ma'am," he said, quietly. "Is everything all right?"

The young woman looked up. The dim light caught a slight, slim face with shadowed hollows under high cheekbones and a glint of hazel eyes.

"Am I mad?" she asked, then reiterating, "Do I look mad to you?"

Benton Fraser gave the unknown young woman a long, considering look. His eyes had adjusted to the relative lack of light. She looked very young, underfed, unconventionally pretty, in need of a bath, confused and slightly scared.

"No." he said. "No, I don't think you look mad."

Ray shuffled his feet impatiently. It was just like Fraser to find a stray in need of help. Not that he didn't want to help the young woman, but he would consider it a miracle if Fraser could go a single day without running across someone who he felt obliged to rescue from whatever odd circumstance they found themselves in.

The young woman was looking at Benton doubtfully. He seemed sincere and unthreatening. She didn't recognize the uniform coat that he wore, but he was not a city cop looking to move her along for sleeping in the wrong place at the wrong time. And he didn't think she looked mad. She took a deep breath.

"Well, I guess, if I'm not mad, everything's probably not all right." The young woman examined her grubby fingernails. "I came here looking for, well, a friend. And she's not here."

Ray spoke. "Missing persons case?" he asked.

"I guess." she sounded doubtful, peering up at Ray through the bangs that were the longest part of her otherwise cropped dark hair.

"What's the name of this friend?" Ray asked.

"Alina Maximovna Petrov." The name rolled lyrically off the young woman's tongue. "But I always called her Grandma. She was my foster mom."

Ray looked at Benton. "We can call it in, see if there's anything in the system." he said.

"That's not all, though." said the young woman, her voice gaining a sharp edge. "She's not just missing. So is her apartment. This is where she used to live." She reached back to touch the blank, dusty plaster wall behind her. "It's gone, and she's gone, and everyone here says that there was never an apartment here and there was never a Mrs. Petrov here and they look at me like I'm crazy and maybe I am crazy, do you think so now, am I mad?"

The words came out in a rush, her eyes growing wider and more alarmed. She was fidgeting like a wild animal catching the scent of a predator.

The air was tense. Ray knew that the wrong words would come out if he tried to comfort the young woman, whose sanity, frankly, he had to question. He held his breath.

Benton held eye contact with the woman. He spoke slowly and calmly. "I still don't think that you look mad. I think that something extremely strange is going on, and I think that you look tired and hungry, and upset. It's natural that you would be upset. But I think that if you'll let us, my partner and I can help you."

Her eyes searched his again, and found nothing but sincerity and empathy.

Benton spoke again. "I think introductions are in order. I'm Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I'll explain later why I'm in Chicago. And this is Detective Raymond Vecchio of the Chicago Police Department."

"Pleased to meet you." Ray said, with only a trace of irony in his voice.

The prosaic introduction seemed to steady the young woman. Perhaps she could trust these men to help. "I'm Stephanie, Stephanie Morisenne. But," she said, a glimmer of teeth showing in the gloom, "friends call me 'Zilla. As in, destroy Tokyo."

Ray laughed. "Nice." he said. "Always good to see kids enjoying the classics."

Benton rose to his feet and smoothed the creases at the knees of his uniform, then gave Stephanie a hand to get to her feet. She looked even smaller standing up, her petite frame contrasting with the giant-lizard nickname.

"Well, you know," Stephanie said, her voice sounding less hesitant, "I have a temper."

"Me too, Zilla, me too." Ray said. Damn, was he bonding with one of Fraser's strays? He mentally kicked himself. This was how trouble started.

"You know, Ray, in all the excitement at the consulate, I didn't have lunch. I saw an interesting little Polish cafe on our way here. Perhaps we could...?" he turned to include Stephanie in the invitation. "My treat, of course."

Ray rolled his eyes behind Stephanie's head. She was rather transparently trying to decide if her pride would allow her to accept lunch at someone else's expense. Benton hadn't exactly been subtle in his maneuvering.

"Nah, Benny, I lost that one bet the other week, remember, it's my turn to get it."

The two managed to herd Stephanie down the stairs and into the Polish cafe, all the while arguing vocally over a fictitious bet. None of them happened to notice a man loitering near the mailboxes in the lobby, watching them leave.

Over hot borscht and bread, Stephanie filled out more of her story. "Mom and my brother and I used to live here, only sometimes, Mom, you know, couldn't keep things together and we'd end up being fostered. Grandma Petrov always took me in. So, anyways, a few years ago Mom decides we're getting a fresh start and heads to Indianapolis."

The story was interspersed with hearty slurps of the soup. Her pale face was beginning to gain some color.

"So, I guess Indianapolis wasn't, like, that much of a fresh start. Mom has some, you know, 'bad habits.'" There was a combination of old bitterness, resignation, and dark humor in her tone of voice. "So, yeah, we ended up back in foster homes. Well, my brother still is, but I figured seventeen is old enough to take off."

Ray raised his eyebrows. Stephanie looked younger than seventeen in many ways, but her eyes looked decades older, like she'd already seen too much of the world.

Stephanie pulled an envelope from her pocket. "I was going to show Grandma Petrov this. It's an acceptance letter for a job." There was pride and excitement in her voice. "I was just, you know, coming through Chicago on the way to New York to start working."

She held out the letter to Benton, who took it and read it carefully. He passed it to Ray, with a sideways glance. Ray read it and looked up, his face carefully impassive. "You got a modeling gig?"

"Isn't it great?" Stephanie said, excitement animating her and taking some of the age out of her eyes. "I saw an ad in the paper so I sent some photos and they want me to start next week. I wrote Grandma Petrov and she wrote back and told me I'd better stop by and see her if I was coming this way."

She was too full of life and happiness at the opportunity she'd found to register a singular lack of enthusiasm from her dining companions. Although, with facial features that suggested Eurasian heritage and fine bones, she was a pretty girl, it seemed unlikely at once to Benton and Ray that she had the kind of height or stature that was expected in the world of haute couture modeling.

Stephanie excused herself to go to the bathroom, and Benton turned to Ray.

"Ray, it's not unheard of for girls in isolated villages back home to be lured to the big city with all sorts of promises that turn out to be falsehoods." he said, sounding distressed.

Ray nodded. "I hear you." he said. "Dollars to donuts that's a bad racket she's signed on for. Maybe if we can find this Grandma Petrov she can talk some sense into her." He wondered just how much his unworldly partner understood about the life those girls ended up in.

When Stephanie came back and sat down, Ray ordered coffee and poppy seed cake, figuring Stephanie still looked underfed, and started asking some questions.

"So, Zilla, you want to tell us about Mrs. Petrov?" he asked.

Stephanie fidgeted for a bit, stacking up sugar packets and then pushing them over.

"Well, um. Okay, when I was first sent to foster with her I thought she was a bitch." Stephanie looked up from the sugar packet sculpture to see if she'd shocked the men by swearing, but they were both merely looking interested.

"I mean, yeah, I call her grandma now, but I was like, eleven and a total brat when she first took me in, and she was like totally hardcore schoolwork and curfews and all that."

The coffee arrived and Stephanie loaded hers up with sugar, delaying having to talk a little longer.

"So, anyway." she eventually continued. "She was like, do your homework, don't run around with the druggies, just say no, this real tough woman, not what you'd think of as a grandma type at all, she always wore these grey pantsuits and big dark rimmed glasses."

Benton noticed that Stephanie was absentmindedly playing with a finely knit grey shawl that was wrapped between her jacket and her sweater.

"Did Mrs. Petrov knit that for you?" he asked.

Stephanie looked startled, then looked down at her hand. "Oh, this. Well, she was always knitting stuff, that was the only grandma thing about her, you know. She gave me this, but she knit it a few years ago, her eyesight wasn't so good by the time I knew her."

"May I look at it?" Benton asked politely. Stephanie hesitated. It was her most precious possession. Still, so far this strange man had been worthy of trust. She took the shawl off and passed it over the table to him. It was quite big, the size concealed by how fine it was. It had looked much smaller scrunched up under her jacket.

Benton examined the handiwork closely and delicately sniffed the fabric. He was most interested. Mrs. Petrov was becoming more concrete in his mind and less of a possibly imaginary figure.

"I assume that Mrs. Petrov was an émigré from the Soviet Union." Benton said.

"That's right." Stephanie confirmed. Of course, the name gave it away, not to mention the apartment building in the Russian neighborhood.

"And I'm guessing that she spent some time in Alaska on her way here."

Stephanie jumped back in her chair, looking frightened.

"Wait, how did you know? Who are you? Where's Grandma Petrov? What's going on?"

Ray gestured to her as if to say "hold on."

"Yeah, Benny, how did you figure that out?" he asked, keeping his tone casual in an attempt to calm the easily startled girl.

"Well, Ray, it's quite simple. This shawl is knit out of yarn spun from the fine under-down of the arctic musk-ox, known as qiviut. It's only harvested in Alaska, mostly by Native Alaskan women."

He held the shawl up to the light. "And you see, this lacework motif here closely resembles a traditional beadwork pattern. It's very unusual for anyone but the women of a particular village to use a pattern like that. Each village has their own set of motifs."

Ray and Stephanie were both looking at Benton as if he'd sprouted a second head or a pair of wings. Ray should have been used to Benton's encyclopedic knowledge of the far north, but it still caught him off guard.

"Alaska's not even in Canada, Benny." he said, aware that it was a complete non-sequitur even as he said it. Benton gave him a rather pitying look.

"Ray, it's not exactly an arcane piece of information. The first nation tribes do talk across international borders, you know."

Stephanie's heart had stopped pounding. Something weird was going on, but she was almost certain that this man did not have prior involvement with Mrs. Petrov's disappearance.

"Yes," she said. "Grandma Petrov did spend time in Alaska, after she left Russia in the sixties. It was a crazy story, you know, like out of a movie. You gotta hear her tell it herself, though she mostly doesn't talk about it, except if you, you know, know her really well."

It was clear to Ray that whatever was happening, the girl was not making up the existence of this Mrs. Petrov. He grasped at the simplest explanation.

"Are you sure you were looking for her in the right apartment building?" he asked.

Stephanie glanced at him disdainfully. "Do I look like an idiot? I know what building I used to live in. I can prove it, too. I took the greyhound here and got in like, way too late to crash at Grandma Petrov's so I got a cheap hotel room. I have a package back there from her that arrived back at the last place I was living, right before I left. It's got her return address and everything. I can show you."

"A return address for an apartment that doesn't exist. Yup, I'd like to see that." Ray said, calling for the check.

Again, Stephanie hesitated about getting in a car with these men, and letting them know where she was staying, but it was hard not to like the partners.

When they arrived at the cheap first floor room she was staying in near the greyhound station, the door was open, with no sign of forced entry. Ray pulled his gun and Benton gently pushed Stephanie flat against the wall beside the door, as Ray poked his head into the room. The small, dingy room was trashed, and there was a man in dark clothing going through Stephanie's suitcase, a package in one hand.

"Hey!" Ray said loudly. The man turned around and dropped the package, heading for the window at the back of the room. He crashed through it into a small lane. Benton had already doubled around behind the building and was in pursuit.

**Author's Note: This is set early in Season 2. If you've read Territory, you already met the lovely Inspector Wheeler. This is not exactly a sequel but it does occur in the same timeline/universe as Territory. If you haven't read it, don't worry, she's rather straightforward. I hold CottageGhost responsible for Wheeler turning up in Chicago ;) I owe much of the inspiration for the central plot to Hitchcock, because it's worth stealing from the best, and it'd be negligent not to name-check Dickens. Yo, Charles. Oh, and I blame Neal Stephenson for later events in the story. Hope I piqued your interest enough to stick around for chapter 2!**


	2. Dance with the Devil

Disclaimer: Don't own / Don't make money / Just want to rokk

Chapter 2 - Dance with the Devil

The lane down which the man ran lead directly into the city bus terminal. Fraser felt his jaw tighten as he followed him. It was daylight, and they'd surprised the man ransacking Stephanie's room, and, he told himself, it was not a trap. It could not be a trap. Not _this_ time. All the same, he was extremely happy to see Ray close behind with his gun. He shook his head as if physically clearing it of bad memories.

The man crossed quickly through the lot holding the coaches and out onto a busy road. Benton was just seconds behind him, but the man crossed right in front of a coach. He barely missed being hit by it, and put the coach between him and his pursuers. Ray and Benton pulled up short, and Benton was soon running up the stairs to an overpass that crossed the same road the man had crossed. Ray puffed behind him.

Reaching the other side of the overpass, Benton looked down. A narrow sidewalk ran along side the busy road and the man was gaining distance from them. He swung down athletically from the top of the overpass stairs, landing on the ground in a low crouch and taking off again like a sprinter after the man. Ray shook his head, watching this from the top of the stairs while he caught his breath before he went down the sane way, on foot.

The man turned from the narrow sidewalk onto a smaller street with more pedestrian traffic. Benton rounded the corner after him, and Ray, following behind, reholstered his gun to avoid causing a panic. The three dodged through the crowd, but Benton's inevitable politeness slowed him down.

"Excuse me, pardon me, my apologies." Fraser managed not to sound impatient even while the man they were after shoved and pushed his way to a greater lead. Eventually the man's haste to get away caused him a problem as he tripped on a loose grate in the pavement and stumbled. Fraser surged forward toward him, Ray hard on his heels. The man turned with a dangerous look in his eye and Fraser found himself hitting the ground with Ray on top of him as a throwing knife aimed at him flew over his head. There was a scream as a pedestrian saw it, and Ray and Fraser rolled over to see the knife embedded safely in the side of a telephone pole. The panicked crowd around them made pursuing the man even more difficult and they lost him when he got into a taxi a half a block ahead of them.

Ray and Benton turned to walk back to Stephanie's ransacked hotel room. On the way back they found the throwing knife still embedded where it had landed. Benton took out his immaculately clean and pressed white handkerchief and carefully extracted the knife, gripping it at the base of the blade rather than by the hilt, in case there were fingerprints on it. He wrapped the handkerchief around the blade and passed it to Ray, who dropped it into an evidence bag that he'd had in his pocket in case the visit to the burgled apartment turned anything up.

"Damn, what the hell is this girl mixed up in?" Ray asked, still panting slightly for breath as they walked.

"I don't know, Ray, but it would appear that this is not a simple misunderstanding of any sort."

"You can say that again, that guy meant business."

"Indeed. Thank you, Ray." Benton didn't have to say more. Ray's quick reflex had taken him out of the path of the knife, but odds were he'd repay the favor in short order.

"Hey, no problem."

Back at the hotel room they found Stephanie sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, her belongings still strewn about her. The padded envelope from the package the man had been holding was on the floor beside her, and she was stroking the contents, a thickly knit scarf, and looking incredibly young and scared. Ray sighed. Probably any progress that they'd made earlier with her had been set back entirely by the assault on her safety. At least now he had a real crime to investigate and could put real police resources behind protecting her.

"Is that the parcel that Mrs. Petrov sent you?" Benton asked.

Stephanie looked up. "Yes, I wasn't expecting it, because I was coming out to see her so soon." She turned the scarf over in her hands. It was black with a distinctive pattern on each end in red and green. "It's really weird, it's way not like the sort of stuff she used to make."

She looked around the trashed room.

"Who was that guy, and what did he want with me?" she asked, in a strained tone of voice.

"I don't know." Benton said. "Unfortunately, he evaded us." He didn't feel it necessary to scare her further with details of how the man had evaded them. "But I suspect that you are not the only person looking for Mrs. Petrov. It looked as though the door was opened without force." he said. "Do you have the key?"

Stephanie stood up, still clutching the scarf, and felt in her back pocket.

"No!" she said. "It was there this morning, but it's like, gone now."

Ray asked "When did you last have it?"

"Well, I know I had it when I left this morning and I went straight to Mrs. Petrov's but I don't know after that."

"And at the apartment building, what did you do?" Ray asked.

"Um. Well, when I couldn't find the apartment, I kinda figured I'd just go see the neighbors and ask questions. So I did, but like, most of them wouldn't answer the door and then the ones that did were, you know, saying they never heard of her. People I know, and they were all like, acting like I was a total stranger." Stephanie said, a rising note of panic in her voice.

"It's possible that you lost the keycard while you were there." Benton said.

"Yeah, or more likely, that someone lifted it from you." Ray said. "If someone was looking for Mrs. Petrov and heard you snooping around he might have got the idea you could give him a clue you didn't know you had. I'd say it was lucky Benny found you."

Stephanie shuddered. "But what do I do now? I ... it's not safe here, is it?"

Ray and Benton looked at each other. It was not safe, not with the knife thrower on the loose, and who knew who else looking for the mysterious, and thoroughly disappeared, Petrov woman.

"Yeah, you're going to want to come with us." Ray said. "We'll go to the station first and write up a statement."

"Stephanie'd better stay at your house." Benton said.

Ray sighed and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. The mountie was right. It wouldn't be proper for Zilla to crash at Benton's apartment, and frankly after the mess with Victoria, Ray didn't really _trust_ women around Benton, no matter how naive and innocent they appeared. His friend's protective, trusting nature was doubly vulnerable to feminine wiles. Plus, Ma Vecchio would enjoy the challenge of feeding the too-thin waif properly.

"Yeah, that makes sense. Zilla, my family would be happy if you'd like to stay in the spare room."

Not exactly happy, probably. But certainly none of them would pay any mind to the potential danger of having a woman somehow involved with armed criminals in the house. While Ray lived under Ma's roof, strays would be taken in regardless.

Stephanie looked dubious, but did not decline Ray's offer of hospitality. The three of them gathered up her possessions. Ray picked up the padded envelope the scarf had come in. "I need this as evidence." he said, noting that the return address really was the non-existent apartment number she'd claimed it was.

Ray dropped Benton off at the Consulate to get ready for the evening's reception, before taking Stephanie downtown. They arranged to meet the next morning at the precinct to continue the investigation.

"Stephanie, would you mind bringing the scarf that Mrs. Petrov sent?" Benton said, as he got out of the car.

"Sure, but why?" Stephanie asked, looking puzzled.

"I'd like to take a look at it. I have an idea." he said. "Take care now, I mustn't be late getting ready for the reception." His tone of voice was unenthusiastic.

Ray laughed as they drove off. "Poor sucker. Zilla, that man has the worst luck with women of anyone I've known, and that's counting me."

Benton found his companionable wolf Diefenbaker asleep in his office. He was pleased to have someone to mutter at while he changed from his regular uniform to his dress uniform. To say that he wasn't looking forward to the evening ahead was an understatement. He hated stuffy, formal events anyway, always feeling out of place with nowhere to hide, but the thought of playing cat and mouse with Inspector Wheeler horrified him. He consoled himself as best he could.

"Well, Dief," he said, as he button his red jacket. "Maybe she won't remember me. What do you think?"

The wolf whined and gave one short bark.

"You're probably right. I'm being egotistical to worry about it at all."

Diefenbaker barked again.

"No, I will not save you the little canapes with the salmon."

Diefenbaker whined and let out a little huff of air before closing his eyes and going back to sleep. He had plans later involving canapes whether or not Fraser would provide assistance.

Benton spent the early part of the evening opening car doors in the cold for guests, mostly people in positions of local importance in law enforcement and other attendees of the conference from out of town. He really didn't mind playing doorman. It was outside, and the cold didn't bother him nearly as much as the invisible network of politics going on inside. However, eventually he had to step into the fray.

Benton entered the reception room which was crowded and loud with people talking over each other and playing not-so-subtle games of oneupmanship. Thatcher saw him and waved him over to where she was standing with the RCMP delegates. They made a pretty picture in their coordinated dress uniforms. There were three of them, including Wheeler. Thatcher herself was scheduled to attend the conference too, as it was an important opportunity for networking.

"Constable Fraser, I'd like you to meet Superintendent Doyle, Superintendent Kidd, and of course you have already met Inspector Wheeler."

Fraser smiled his warm, welcoming smile. "I'm very pleased to meet you." he said, shaking hands firmly with Doyle and Kidd, two men who were both similarly sharp eyed and distinguished looking, cut from the same ambitious cloth.

Meg Thatcher watched anxiously. She wanted the evening, and the visit in general to be a success. She particularly wanted Superintendents Doyle and Kidd to take a good impression of her back with them. If that meant keeping Constable Fraser out of Inspector Wheeler's way so as not to cause problems, she would do that. She was surprised, however. Rather than looking displeased to see Constable Fraser, Inspector Wheeler was smiling broadly.

"And Inspector Wheeler, it's a, ah." He couldn't say it was a pleasure to see her. That would be rather less than the truth. Fortunately, Inspector Wheeler jumped in before he could stammer out an end to the sentence.

"Oh, no, the pleasure is all mine, Constable." she said, giving him her hand, over which he executed a half-hearted bow. "I'm sure we have a lot to catch up on."

Inspector Thatcher's eyebrows shot up under her dark hair. She felt a rising bristling at this interaction. What on earth had Fraser meant by his earlier statements? If anything it appeared that he and Inspector Wheeler had quite the cozy relationship.

"Oh, dear, my drink seems to need refreshing." Wheeler said, taking Benton's arm familiarly. "Perhaps you could show me where the drinks table is?"

Benton shot an alarmed glance over his shoulder at Inspector Thatcher, who gave him a chilly smile. "Oh yes, Constable Fraser, why don't you take care of Inspector Wheeler." she almost snapped. She didn't know why she was so annoyed, but she felt a visceral dislike for the Wheeler woman developing.

A deep breath allowed her to smooth her features back over into a smile. Well, there was one advantage. She had the two Superintendents to herself, and she could be every bit the charming and bright hostess.

Her resolve lasted as long as she could monopolize her superior officers, but as they circulated through the room and she introduced them to other guests, she found her eyes wandering to seek out Constable Fraser and Inspector Wheeler. The two were executing a slow and uncomfortable sort of dance. From the drinks table, where Fraser had replenished Wheeler's gin and tonic and poured himself a straight tonic water, they had moved around the room, Wheeler constantly moving in closer to Fraser, and Fraser constantly backing away as politely as possible. He was like a battery controlled toy car, only changing direction when he was too close to being backed against a wall or corner. Eventually, they passed into Inspector Thatcher's orbit, and she excused herself from the conversation she was engaged in.

"Inspector Wheeler." she said. "I trust you're enjoying the reception?"

Inspector Wheeler smiled a glitteringly false smile. "Oh, please, do call me Cathy. I've been trying to get your Constable Fraser to loosen up and call me Cathy all night, but he's so charmingly traditional, don't you think?" she said.

The smile Meg Thatcher returned was equally shallow.

"Constable Fraser is definitely one of a kind." she replied stiffly.

Benton kept his mouth shut. Frankly, he'd rather be jumping off overpasses and having knives thrown at him than trying to remain diplomatic between the two women. Nothing from his extensive life experience had prepared him for dealing with two territorial females of the _human_ kind, and from survival training, 'Don't make any sudden moves, back away slowly' didn't seem like it was adequate to the situation at hand.

"Yes, he is." Wheeler said, touching Benton's arm lightly but possessively. "He's just been telling me all about his absolutely fascinating work down here with the local police force." Truthfully, she couldn't care less about his work with the local police force except that it gave her a chance to watch those striking, pellucid eyes as he spoke in an animated fashion, to gaze upon that almost preternaturally square jaw, those soft, bitable lips. "Snap out of it, Wheeler!" she caught herself daydreaming. "Stay on mission!"

Thatcher bristled and then got annoyed with herself for bristling. What was it to her if Constable Fraser was on such good terms with this woman? Why on earth should she care? He was free to flirt with whomever he wished, obviously!

"I was just thinking," Inspector Wheeler said. "As the conference sessions run tomorrow and Monday but leave most of Saturday and Sunday free, it would be very interesting to see just what Constable Fraser does in his relations with the Chicago PD. Informative." And a chance to spend time working on the obviously shy man's defenses. Wheeler was still convinced that he was beddable, she just hadn't found the right angle of approach. His police work seemed to be the one thing that truly made him light up. If that's what it took to land him, then by all means she'd use it. After all, a mountie always gets her man.

"I don't quite understand." Benton said. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"I thought a ride-along might be very stimulating." Wheeler said, emphasizing the word 'stimulating'. "Don't you agree that it would be a useful addition to my visit to Chicago, Inspector Thatcher?"

Inspector Thatcher looked flustered. Benton Fraser had a frozen, deer in the headlights look about him. Typical, she thought, he would be no help. There was no real reason why the consulate shouldn't accommodate Wheeler's request, and a catty feeling about it certainly didn't count. Even if she could have heard the mantra of "Ray is going to kill me." repeating in Fraser's brain, that wouldn't have been a good reason to say no either. She opened her mouth to respond but found that Fraser was already talking nervously.

"I, don't, well, that is, I don't know if it's a good idea, I mean, it can be rather dangerous, and of course, well, Chicago is a..."

He realized immediately that this was the wrong tack. Wheeler contrived to look offended at the suggestion that she was not up to the danger.

"That is to say, not that I think, I mean." He only managed to tangle himself up further in words.

Thatcher shot him a pitying yet contemptuous glance. Now she had to smooth Wheeler's ruffled feathers, a task to which she was disinclined.

"Of course we can arrange something." she said. "I'm sure Constable Fraser's contact in the Police Department will be pleased to have the opportunity to show off what Chicago's finest can do. Although, as Constable Fraser's superior officer, I would prefer to come with you myself, too."

Benton didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified. He was leaning toward terrified. Ray was going to kill him, for one thing. Ray couldn't stand Wheeler and wasn't too fond of Thatcher. For another thing, Benton really didn't like to picture Inspector Thatcher as the one dodging flying weaponry. This feeling surprised him. After all, she was an officer, and competent, and furthermore apparently inclined to make his life completely miserable, so there was no reason for him to feel protective of her, but, he found, he did. His hope lay in wrapping up the Petrov case by the end of the next day, Friday.

Walking home from the consulate after the reception, the cold air clearing his mind, Fraser turned over in his head the events of the day. Diefenbaker padded along beside him. They both needed the exercise. Diefenbaker had scored a side of smoked salmon out from under the caterer's nose, and Benton needed to stretch his legs and look up into the few stars that could be seen through the light pollution. He thrust aside women problems to concern himself with the riddle of Mrs. Petrov.

Fraser was not so preoccupied as to not notice the black sedan that had picked up his tail outside the consulate and that was dawdling through the slow late night traffic within visual distance of him. Considering discretion the better part of valor, he slipped away through side streets, losing the car a few blocks from his apartment.

He knew, though, that whoever had found him to follow him from the consulate could find him at home, and as he turned in for the night he considered once again the advisability of door locks. But the presence of the black sedan was really just one more clue to the mystery. If the people in the car wanted to do more than follow him, they'd had ample opportunity out on the street. If they wanted to get into his apartment, locks probably wouldn't stop them anyway. He rolled over to sleep with the feeling that whatever happened, he was not going to live in fear.

**Author's Note: A couple of story notes: The timeline this is following is accurate to the real-world timing of the show, so we're sometime in 1994/95. This will be important later ;). As with Territory, everything for this story has been drafted and is being put up as soon as I am happy with the polished revision for each chapter (unless, like this weekend, I am away from my computer). Stay tuned for Chapter 3 in which clues are investigated and certain parties wanting to locate our Mrs. Petrov show their ugly faces. As always, feedback is most appreciated :)**


	3. Knit one, purl clue

Disclaimer: Don't own / Don't make money / Just want to rokk

This chapter contains violence

Chapter 3 - Knit one, purl clue.

The next morning, Ray and Stephanie were already at the police station when Benton arrived. He'd taken a convoluted route from his apartment, but there was no further sign of a black sedan following him. Diefenbaker immediately went off to see if he could beg some breakfast from the precinct's civilian aid, Elaine Besbriss.

"Good morning, Ray, Stephanie." Benton said cheerfully. Stephanie was slouching against Ray's desk. She looked a lot cleaner and better fed than she had the day before, her short hair was shiny and her clothes were freshly laundered. She did not, however, look like she thought it was a good morning. She couldn't conceal a nervous discomfort at being inside a police station. She mumbled "Morning." and slouched further.

Ray gave Benton a half-smile. "Morning Benny. You survived the Wheeler woman then?"

Benton sighed. "Uh, about that." he said. He explained Wheeler's request for the next day, and waited for the fireworks. Ray, however, was merely grinning a slightly wicked grin.

"Sure thing, Benny, that sounds like all kinds of fun. For me, anyway."

Benton shrugged. "Well, if you don't mind, Ray. I mean, I did try to object but-" he left the sentence hanging. Ray was more than capable of visualizing the complete lack of impact his protests had on the two women.

"Nah, I don't mind. Could be interesting." Ray did privately consider it a nuisance, but the entertainment value of the nuisance was certainly high. He had a detective's hunch that Wheeler and Thatcher might perhaps not be bosom buddies, and watching them circle around each while Wheeler worked on the oblivious Fraser could certainly liven things up.

"Ah. Good. Well, then I can tell you about a slightly more interesting event from last night. Did either of you happen to notice any strange vehicles tailing you?"

Ray shot up in his seat, alert at once.

"Nah, nothing like that, why?"

"When I left the consulate last night, I was followed. They didn't attempt to intercept me, though. We have to assume that this case involves people with the resources to find us, and take due safety measures."

"What do you mean?" Stephanie asked.

"Well, we'll have to be sure that you have adequate protection. I'm sorry, but you'll have to stay at the station today while we carry out some enquiries."

Stephanie looked around at all the uniformed and plain clothes officers. "I, like, uh, I'm not that into hanging around with so many, you know, cops."

Ray huffed.

"Well, I'm sorry, but cops can be, like, real assholes." Stephanie looked defiant. "Have you ever had to sleep rough? I didn't think so." She was glaring at her fingernails, her hand twisted in her comforting shawl.

"Stephanie, it's all right." Fraser said, stepping in and putting a hand on her shoulder before Ray could express the obvious indignation brewing on his face.

"None of these fine officers of the law are interested in harming your or harassing you. I'm sorry that you've had bad experiences, but you are here as a victim of a crime, and you will be protected."

Stephanie chewed on her lower lip and looked unconvinced, but she didn't argue any further.

"Now, Stephanie." Benton said. "Would you mind if I took a look at that scarf that Mrs. Petrov sent you?"

Stephanie looked less sullen at this, her interest in what he was doing overriding her anxieties at least momentarily. She leaned down and pulled the scarf out of a capacious bag at her feet.

"I don't know what you think there is to see." she said. "It's just a, you know, normal scarf. Except, like, Grandma Petrov usually makes way prettier stuff. Pictures of flowers, you know, or, like, snowflakes and things in the different colors."

Benton handled the scarf. It was knit in a thick black wool with the red and green colorwork at the ends appearing to make random patterns. Instead of the neat scandinavian flowers and snowflakes of fairisle knitting, the red and green were grouped in clusters of one or two red stitches, each stitch or pair divided by a black stitch or two, and then intermittent green stitches between groups of red and black. Every second row was plain black. The pattern, although appearing random, was identical on both ends, and the middle was plain black, although in another apparently random pattern of knit stitches and purl stitches forming a bumpy texture.

"Ray, may I have a pen and paper please?" Benton asked. He held the scarf by one end and started to make marks on the paper.

"What's he doing?" Stephanie asked Ray, fascinated in spite of herself.

"Dunno." Ray said. Benton was concentrating intently. Ray peered at the paper.

"Looks like morse code." Ray said.

"Precisely." Benton said. "A very clever way of communicating."

He finished writing down the stitches and stared at the paper.

"However, I'm still missing something."

What he had written down looked like:

..- -. --.- / --. -... / -.-- .-. -. .. .-. .-.-.- / --.- -... .- .----. --. / --. . .-.. / --. -... / ... ...- .- --.- / --.. .-. .-.-.- / --. -... -... / --.- -. .- - .-. . -... ... ..-. .-.-.- / .--- ...- -.-- -.-- / -. -.-- .--- -. .-.. ..-. / -.-- -... .. .-. / .-.. -... ... .-.-.- / - . -. .- --.- --.. -.

He said "Each of the green stitches is a space between words, which I've indicated with a slash. The red stitches are one red for a dot and two red for a dash, with one black stitch to separate each dash and dot, and two black stitches to separate each letter. That seems straightforward enough, but I can't make sense of what it spells."

Both Stephanie and Ray stared at the dots and dashes uncomprehendingly.

"Well, what does it look like it spells?" Ray asked.

Benton picked up the pencil again and wrote quickly:

"Unq gb yrnir. Qba'g gel gb svaq zr. Gbb qnatrebhf. Jvyy nyjnlf ybir lbh. Tenaqzn."

"But that's, like, random stuff." Stephanie said. "I guess it can't be morse code after all."

Benton got a sudden gleam of inspiration in his eyes.

"Let me look at the scarf again," he said. He counted the braided fringes on one of the ends.

"Aha!" he said.

"What aha?" Ray said with obvious annoyance.

"Oh, it's just..." Benton started scribbling again with the pencil. "Yes, I have it!" he said.

He looked at the paper he had just written on.

"Oh. Well."

He handed it to Stephanie. "I'm sorry, it isn't very encouraging."

She read it aloud. "Had to leave. Don't try to find me. Too dangerous. Will always love you. Grandma."

There was rising disbelief in her voice as she read it.

"That's crazy." she said. "How did you get that from the dots on the scarf?"

"Well," Benton said, "It's actually rather simple for anyone with even a cursory knowledge of cryptography. In fact, Morse Code is such a widely known substitution code that it doesn't really count except as being a way to encode data when you can't actually use letters. The other system that Mrs. Petrov used is known as ROT thirteen, which I inferred from the thirteen pieces of fringe on the scarf. But that's very basic too, just a substitution of letters based on their place in the alphabet, and not the sort of thing any experienced intelligence agent would use for more than the most rudimentary concealment of information. Obviously she expected you to be clever enough to decode it."

Stephanie took a step back, with a look of shock and anger on her face.

"Wait," she said, "are you calling grandma a spy?"

Ray said "Yeah, Frase, that's certainly what it sounds like."

"Well, yes, I think Mrs. Petrov has an intelligence background." Fraser said. "But that doesn't mean that I'm saying she's been spying here." he rushed to add before Stephanie blew up on him.

"You must see that it makes sense, Stephanie. For Mrs. Petrov to be able to get out of the Soviet Union via the East to Alaska, she must have been very capable and had many resources. And if she was in intelligence in the Soviet Union, and she did defect, it might explain why other people are interested in finding her, although not why now, so many decades later."

"Yeah, well, you can think what you like, but Grandma's not a spy." Stephanie said, folding her arms across her chest defensively. "I mean, you could just be making all that code stuff up anyway, right?"

Benton sighed. He'd lost Stephanie's trust as quickly as they'd gained it the day before. He kicked himself for being so clumsy in his enthusiasm over solving the simple puzzle. He looked for the words to make it right, but the defensive barrier was locked back firmly in place in Stephanie's eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I didn't mean to imply anything bad about Mrs. Petrov."

"Whatever." Stephanie said. "Just, you know, find her." she added, in a lower voice.

Ray stood. "We'll find her, Zilla." he said. "We're going over to the apartment building now, to ask some questions. We'll see what we can shake loose. Don't worry."

Stephanie gave Ray a shaky smile, which vanished as quickly as it had shown up.

Benton frowned to himself as Ray stopped to put his coat on. He wished he'd handled the situation better. He was glad that Ray still seemed to have a thread of a connection with the skittish young woman.

Ray and Benton left the sulky seventeen year old with Elaine, with strict instructions for her not to leave the precinct before they returned, for her own safety.

Benton was silent during the drive over to the apartment building. His brain was ticking over with the possible implications of Mrs. Petrov's apparent familiarity with basic cryptography. It was of course possible that she had been in the United States as a sleeper spy for the Soviet Union, regardless of what he'd tried to say to reassure Stephanie. But he still felt that the story of her arduous journey, during which she must have crossed a substantial part of Eastern Siberia from the far south where the Trans-Siberian rail ran, to reach the north coast that very nearly abutted Alaska, suggested that she had been extremely determined to escape Russia.

There was no reason for the KGB to go to that length to plant a sleeper in an émigré community. Regardless, if this was an affair involving former Soviet intelligence forces, then he and Ray were taking a decent sized risk pursuing the investigation. As they drew up outside the building he said as much.

"Ray, you understand that Mrs. Petrov may be involved with, well, some very dangerous people?"

Ray nodded. "Yeah, I know you put Zilla's nose out of joint but I gotta agree, between the disappearing apartment, that spygame business of the code, and the car following you last night, it looks pretty bad."

"And you want to continue to take this risk?"

Ray shot him a darkly amused glance. "As opposed to what, just throw up our hands and call this one too hard? Yeah, like I'm gonna do that!"

"I suppose not, Ray." Benton agreed. "We did promise Stephanie we'd do what we can to find Mrs. Petrov."

"And that's what we're gonna do, I don't care if the Ruskies are after her or what. By the way, I didn't want to mention it in front of Zilla, but the lab boys ran the prints on that knife from yesterday." He was shaking his head discouragingly as he said this. "Nothing. Zip. Nada. Our felonious friend isn't on the books, whatever that tells us."

Instructing Diefenbaker to stay in the Rivera, they went in to the building where Stephanie claimed Mrs. Petrov had formerly lived. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and their first stop was the dark end of the corridor where Stephanie had been sitting. Fraser pulled a flashlight from his pocket and looked at the wall. He ran his hand over the dust, and then handed the flashlight to Ray and pulled out his penknife. Gently, he scraped a layer off the wall and held it up to his nose.

"You're gonna lick the wall, aren't you?" Ray said disgustedly.

Fraser was already doing just that, touching the substance on the knife blade to the tip of his tongue.

"Ray, this paint and plaster are fresh. And the dust contains particles that don't match the dust particles in the rest of the corridor. It's as if the dust was added afterwards for effect."

"You're saying they just plastered over the whole door to make the apartment go bye-bye." Ray said.

"I suspect drywall was involved too, or I'd be able to make out the outline of the door, but it does look that way, yes. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make sure Mrs. Petrov vanished entirely."

They knocked on the door of the apartment closest to the end of the corridor. A short, balding man in a smoking jacket and slippers over grey trousers opened the door. Ray showed his badge.

"Hi, hello. We're investigating a missing persons case, and we'd appreciate it if we could come in." He was already moving forward, over the ineffectual protests of the man. Benton followed him, taking his hat off respectfully.

Ray asked about Mrs. Petrov, receiving unconvincing protestations from the man. Benton took the opportunity to look around, slipping into the bedroom and establishing, as he had thought, that the apartment in no way extended to the outside wall of the building. It seemed plain that Stephanie must be telling the truth, not the man denying any knowledge of such a person.

Benton came back out to the sitting room and took in some interesting details. In particular, a blanket thrown over the couch caught his notice. He waited until a natural pause in Ray's questioning.

"Excuse me, sir." Benton said to the resident, "but this blanket appears to be hand knit. Could you tell me who made it?"

The apartment resident sputtered. "Oh, no, that thing, I don't know, my wife, I suppose, er."

Benton fingered the blanket dubiously. It had similar style patterns to the shawl that Stephanie wore.

"I don't think your wife made this." he said. "I think your neighbor gave it to you. I think you were close with her, for her to give you something that would take this much work, and that you're protecting her."

There was a tell-tale glimmer in the resident's eyes.

Ray said "We don't want to hurt Mrs. Petrov. We just want to get her foster daughter back together with her. And we're worried they're both in danger."

At the word 'danger', the mask dropped back down over the man's face. He started hustling Ray and Benton toward the door.

"No, I am telling you, I don't know any Mrs. Petrov. We never have had a neighbor of that name."

"Well, thank you kindly for your time, anyway." Benton said, as they left the apartment. The man closed the door hurriedly.

Ray and Benton went from door to door questioning the other neighbors on the second floor, including the couple who had reported the burglary that brought them to the building in the first place. No one was willing to admit to knowing Mrs. Petrov, and the burglary victims went so far as to insist on withdrawing their complaint. It was with frustration that Ray and Fraser left the building, feeling that they had learned nothing useful.

"There's gotta be something back there behind the plaster." Ray said.

"Yes. And as much as one could assume from the car tailing me last night that this was something serious, the unanimity with which those people denied knowledge of Mrs. Petrov, however unconvincing, does reinforce the idea that we're facing people with a lot of resources. Not to mention people who are greatly feared by every single resident of that building."

Benton sighed. "It would be nice to think that by leaving the Soviet Union they could have made a fresh start, safe from the sort of intimidatory tactics that must have been used to keep them from talking."

"You mean the Russians have them scared?" Ray said.

"Possibly. Or possibly the Americans. It depends on which side Mrs. Petrov was working for, after all."

Ray sighed and rubbed his head. "Great, either way we're probably screwed. Come on, let's go get a warrant and a sledge hammer and find out what's behind the plaster."

They were walking back to Ray's Rivera when Benton said "Behind us." Ray turned his head slightly and saw a black sedan following them.

"Same black car?" Ray asked.

"Different black car." Fraser said, economically.

The passenger side window of the car opened and a shot rang past Ray and Benton, ricocheting off the building behind them.

"Hell!" Ray said, and they started to run, looking for cover. Ray drew his gun but didn't get the chance to stop and fire.

Ray and Fraser slipped into an alley, hoping to lose their pursuers, but the car pulled across the end of the alley trapping them, and two men in dark suits got out. One of the men from the car was the man who had trashed Stephanie's hotel room. The other was older and greyer, with a sleek air of catlike menace under his nondescript suit. They both had black handguns, elongated with silencers screwed on the ends.

"Back against the wall, and you, drop your gun and kick it out of the way." The grey man said in a deep, heavily Russian accented voice. "I trust you are both smart enough not to try to rush two professionals with guns."

Benton and Ray swapped an ironic glance. They had both been about to do just that, relying on the tight space in the alley and the element of surprise. To be fair, it had worked on other occasions. Now, though, they backed up against the alley wall as ordered.

The younger man held his gun on both of them while the older reached in to their jackets to look for identification. "Ah. Interesting. I shall not ask what Canada's stake in this little affair is. It is of no relevance to me." he said, looking at Benton's badge. "You two were observed leaving the apartment building where we suspect a person of interest to us has lived, yesterday. You should have been picked up then, but things were, as you Americans would say, bungled." At this, the younger man snarled.

"So, I have some questions to ask, and I must decide of whom to ask them." The older man looked at Ray and then at Benton, searchingly. He seemed pleased with what he saw. "I think, I look at you, you are both hard cases, very hard cases. If we try to hurt you to get you to talk, we will be here all day. I do not have all day to waste. So we do this."

He swung his gun between them. "Eeny, meeny, miney, moe." he said. He ended up with his gun pointed at Benton. "Yes, this will work. You will answer questions," he said, "or he", swinging his gun to point at Ray, "gets shot."

The younger man hustled Ray around at gun point so he was facing the wall and placed his gun at the back of Ray's head.

"Now, I think you tell me what I need to know." the grey man said, smiling, even almost bowing to Benton. "You will tell me where we will find the girl, Stephanie Morisenne."

"Don't tell him anything, buddy." Ray said, earning him a smart clip around the ear with the barrel of the younger man's gun. Benton winced sympathetically and played for time. They were not far off the street and with copious amounts of luck, someone might both see the situation and care enough to call in help.

"Why do you want to know where she is?" Benton asked, keeping his tone of voice light and casual with some effort.

The older man replied. "I think you know why. We know the girl got a parcel from the woman Petrov. She has maybe some information that will lead to Petrov. You know that is who we want. Indeed, if you have that information yourself, you could tell me that, as well as where the girl is. And if she does not have information, well, obviously Petrov is close to the girl, and as we demonstrate here, it is much easier to get people to cooperate when you hold someone about whom they care." With that he gave a nod to the younger man, who grabbed Ray's head and slammed it harshly against the wall, eliciting a startled but quickly suppressed grunt of pain from Ray.

"Now, you, Canadian, stop stalling and tell me where the girl is, or..." he smiled unnervingly. "Vassily despises that he made a mess of things yesterday. He would love to finish the policeman who got in his way."

**Author's note: Drama! Hope Ray can hang in there. ;) Ugh, I'm exhausted, blistery and oversharing after a three-day charity walk, but I wanted to get this chapter up. Hope you enjoyed it! I welcome all feedback, including tips for treating disgusting blistery feet.**


	4. Cold War II

Disclaimer: Don't own / Don't make money / Just want to rokk

Warning- Chapter contains violence

Chapter 4 - Cold War II

The last time Fraser had found himself staring down someone threatening to shoot Ray, he'd had the psychological advantage and had taunted the assailant into attacking him instead. In this case, he knew that simply would not work. These were not hotheaded men. These were men who had calculated the fastest way to force information out of a variety of different personality types, and who had picked easily the best way to pressure either Ray or him into talking.

Benton swallowed and chewed on his lower lip. His mouth was dry. He couldn't put it off any longer or Ray would be killed, but it would be unthinkable to say anything that would give them the true location of Stephanie.

"I don't know where Stephanie Morisenne is." he said, in a voice barely above a murmur. "I told Ray to take her to a safe house, and the fewer of us who know the location, the better." As much as it pained him to lie, the other two options were far, far worse.

The older man scowled. "This is not what I want to hear." he brought up the hand with the gun suddenly, hitting Benton hard across the jaw. "Now, your friend's turn. Turn around."

Benton faced the wall, the silencer of the younger man's gun now pressed into his neck, while Ray was instructed to turn around and answer questions.

"I think you will not stall, Vecchio." the older man said. "This place is too public for many questions and as the Canadian says he does not know where the girl is, he is of no use to us except as leverage. If I have to, I will shoot him and take you elsewhere to question."

Blood from having his head smacked into the wall mingled with sweat on Ray's brow. His turn. Great. Fraser had very neatly placed himself in the firing line with his evasion of the truth, leaving Ray to decide whether to talk or whether to let his partner get shot. Fraser must know he wouldn't talk, couldn't. He couldn't throw Stephanie to the wolves. They were both law enforcement officers, they were there to take risks. She was a civilian.

Of course, Ray knew that Benton knew that the Russians couldn't shoot Ray now, because he was supposedly the only one of them who knew Stephanie's location. Then he realised that gambit worked both ways. Ray very nearly grinned as he said "Oh, the mountie was lying. I told _him_ to take the girl to a safe house, and I have absolutely no idea where she is. He's the one who knows."

Benton tried not to show visible relief that Ray had picked the gag up and run with it.

"Very well. You are a pair of game players." The older Russian growled. "If you want it to be so, it must be so, we will take you both and use the usual methods of extracting information. You will get into the car." He gave Benton a shove, pointing him toward the car.

"What do you think, Ray? I don't think that it would be entirely to our advantage to go with these men." Benton said.

"Yeah, since they can't kill either of us, I think that'd be a sucker's bet." Ray said, earning himself another clip around the ear.

The older Russian's voice was frosty. He pressed his gun against the side of Benton's torso.

"I lose patience. You would not like if I lose too much patience."

"What, you turn into the hulk?" Ray was on a roll, to the younger Russian's disgust.

The older Russian merely smiled, a terrible smirk. "You think you are funny, but I think I can make you take me seriously." He nodded to the younger Russian who took the cue to step closer to Fraser and punch him from behind, two short, hard jabs to the kidneys. Fraser pressed his lips together, unwilling to make a noise, but unable to suppress his groan entirely.

"Now you are listening, Detective Vecchio. Good. You have a choice." The older Russian said. "I can shoot Constable Fraser in the stomach. I am very good, I will not hit anything instantly fatal, he will bleed out slowly, and the pain will be excruciating. Then, if he is lying, and he does know where the girl is, he will talk just to get a quick end to it. If you are lying, you will talk for the same reason when you see him suffer. Or, the other choice, you both get in the car now."

"When you put it like that," Ray said, shrugging, a motion that extend from his shoulders to the way his fingers curled, like a ripple at the edge of a great wave of force.

"I don't think they leave us much of an alternative, Ray." Fraser said. He hoped his partner understood what he meant. Getting into a car with professionals intent on harm was as much of a death sentence as a bullet in an alleyway, and he'd rather take his chances on the bullet. While there were alternatives, Fraser hadn't cared to risk Ray's safety by fighting, but now they were out of time and he was not going quietly.

There were advantages to being menaced at point-blank range. Fraser put his hands in front of him as if in a gesture of acquiescence, but instead wrapped his hand firmly around the barrel of the older Russian's gun and, stepping sideways quickly, smashed the hand of the man holding the gun into the wall of the alley.

If he'd been wrong about Ray knowing what he meant, Fraser at least consoled himself that he'd be dead at the hands of the younger Russian almost instantly, rather than after a drawn-out interrogation. Fortunately, as he wrestled with the older man for control of the gun he could hear Ray scuffling with the other man.

Ray was ready. He went directly for the head butt, banking on the element of surprise. Sure, his forehead already hurt, but he might as well share the joy, and he couldn't afford to give the younger man even split seconds to register Fraser's resistance and start shooting. He kicked out, lashing hard into the man's knee, and then grabbed for his gun arm with both hands, trying to wrestle it up behind the man's back.

Fraser's fight was by far the less challenging. While the older man was not without strength, Ray's opponent was fast and relentless, desperately fighting to regain control over the weapon that Ray was trying to make him drop. The whole fight was nearly silent, save for the occasional grunt of air being knocked out of lungs.

The alley they were standing in took a dog-leg before reaching the street behind it at the other end, which was why all four men heard the second car approach before they saw it.

They all paused a moment in the deadly struggle, and seeing the car, the older man said something sharp and loud in Russian. He wrenched himself violently out of Fraser's grasp, while the younger man broke away from Ray and they both ran back toward their car, leaving Ray and Benton standing bruised and bewildered. Benton turned around. "Oh." he said. "Now that is the same black car as last night."

Ray picked up his gun from where he'd kicked it. Benton handed Ray a handkerchief to wipe the blood off his forehead as the new car pulled up beside them.

"What fresh hell is this?" Ray said sarcastically.

The rear door of the car opened and a man leaned out holding a small pistol. He could have been the twin of the older, grey faced Russian, but his accent was markedly American when he said "Get in."

Ray shrugged. "I wish my horoscope had warned me that today was my lucky day for getting pushed around by guys with guns. We'll come, but I warn you, I'm not letting go of this." He showed the man in the car his gun, and the man nodded magnanimously.

Ray and Benton slid into the wide back seat of the car. They'd stretched their luck about as far as it would hold already with the Russians, and there was nowhere to run. The man in the back seat said. "Okay, drive." to the solidly muscular, shaven headed man in the front seat of the car.

"I imagine you're getting tired of being ordered about by people whose names you don't even know, so for the purpose of this trip, you may call me Jones." the man in the back seat said crisply. "Those Russians probably didn't have the courtesy to introduce themselves, but the man in charge is named Chernousov, and you might have gathered he's not a hell of a nice guy. The other, we only know as Vassily. You might have some idea why we wouldn't want them getting near our Mrs. Petrov."

"You're protecting Mrs. Petrov." Benton said. "May we assume she is of interest to the United States Government?"

Jones coughed. "You may assume what you like, but I am not in any official capacity representing the United States at this juncture."

"But Mrs. Petrov is under threat by foreign nationals, so one can deduce that she has some value to your Government or perhaps to the current Russian Government, related to her activities prior to leaving the Soviet Union." Benton said.

"What Mrs. Petrov is or isn't is on a strictly need to know basis, fella, and at this exact point in time I am at liberty to tell you that you do not need to know. All you need to know is that I am asking you, in an unofficial capacity, to stay the hell off the case."

Ray snorted. "Because you're asking nicely."

Jones laughed, a dry laugh. "If you want to put it that way. Put it another way, I could have just left Chernousov to deal with you. His methods may be crude compared to some of the other players in this game, but they do tend to be effective. But I read your files, and you fellas have the luck of the devil and some kind of crazy arrest record, and I couldn't risk Chernousov somehow snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Consider it a compliment that I bailed your asses out, and am offering a verbal suggestion as to your future inclinations concerning this matter."

"As opposed to what kind of suggestion?" Ray said. He resented the implication that they'd been bailed out, they'd been holding their own quite nicely in the fight, although he begrudgingly conceded that it might have taken him a while to subdue the aggressive Vassily had Jones not arrived.

"Now, Detective Vecchio, we'd never want to have to become violent over the matter, particularly not toward a US citizen." Jones said. "Just take my advice. I gather the girl was thinking of leaving town. I suggest you encourage her to do so. That's not a threat, we have no interest in her. You two, on the other hand, do pose a problem, and we will be keeping an eye on you."

The car pulled up next to Ray's Rivera. "I hope you will take this advice under the very serious consideration it deserves." Jones said, before leaning over to open the door and let Ray and Benton out.

Ray sat in the driver's seat of his car leaning on the steering wheel.

"You okay?" he asked Benton.

"Yes, I'm fine, Ray. How's your head?"

"About like it looks." Ray grimaced. Diefenbaker leaned over the front seat to give a sympathetic, if not entirely welcome, wet-nosed nuzzle to the detective's face.

"Chernousov and Vassily definitely answer our concerns about who exactly might be involved in this business." Benton said.

"I didn't really take to that guy Jones either." Ray replied. "Damn, I really hate being told what to do by assholes." he said.

"I agree. What do you think we should do about it?" Benton said.

"Stay the hell away from the Ruskies?" Ray said. "Well, at least keep Stephanie the hell away from them."

"Yes. I think we will have to present the information that we have to Stephanie and see if she still wants us to locate Mrs. Petrov under the circumstances." Benton said. "The way that Chernousov and the other man behaved was unnecessarily physical."

"You're telling me." Ray said, rubbing his aching temple gingerly.

"Well, I think it might be a fair assumption that rather than anything more specialized, those two are no more than killers for whatever organization employs them."

Ray nodded. "Yeah. Stephanie won't want to let them near Mrs. Petrov any more than I want to let them near Stephanie."

It took Ray a couple of minutes to calm down before he started the engine and drove back to the precinct. Elaine was waiting when they arrived.

"What happened?" she exclaimed, noting the ugly cut on Ray's forehead and the bruise now spreading up Benton's jaw and cheek.

"Eh. Some guys trying to tell us how to do our job, as usual." Ray said flippantly. "Where's Stephanie?"

Elaine looked troubled. "That's the thing. I'm sorry, guys, she left. I had to go pull a file for the lieutenant and when I got back she was gone. She left you a note."

"Damn." Ray said. "Idiot girl. She has no idea what she's mixed up in." He snatched the note from Elaine and read it. The handwriting was loopy and untidy with circles over the lowercase 'i's.

"Dear Ray," it read, "Sorry I couldn't stick around but it makes me feel weird to be around all these cops and I just don't think you're going to have any luck if u think Mrs Petrov is some kind of spy because she isn't so I guess I am going to have to start looking places I might know. PS thanx Ray for having me at your house and tell your mom thanx too. Zilla" It was signed with a flourish of 'x's and 'o's.

"Elaine-" Ray said, handing the letter to Benton to read.

"I know, I know. I pulled up all the youth shelters and other places where street kids hang out around the area that she used be fostered in. Here's a list." Elaine said.

"Brilliant." Ray said.

"Yes, thank you kindly, Elaine." Benton added with a warm smile.

"Vecchio, you ought to get that cut seen to." Elaine said.

"Nah, it's fine, it'll heal." Ray said.

"I think Elaine's right." Benton said. "You should at least clean it and put a dressing on it."

Elaine looked exasperated at the stubborn expression on Ray's face. "Fine." she said "I'll dress it. Won't take a minute."

Ray had to concede. Benton took the time to call in to the consulate to swap shifts with Constable Turnbull, as he was due in at two p.m., which was nearing, and he couldn't stand the thought of being stuck at the consulate while Stephanie was wandering the same streets that Chernousov was prowling. As much as he'd like to just go home to his apartment and get an early night's rest, he arranged to take Turnbull's evening shift at the consulate. He hoped by then they would have found Stephanie and moved her somewhere out of Chernousov's reach.

"Hey, Frase." Ray said, coming back to his desk, his forehead now neatly bandaged over. "Did you catch the plates on Chernousov's car?"

Benton shook his head. "Sorry, Ray, they were obscured."

"Figures. I'm going to put an APB out on Chernousov. Make it real clear that he's armed and very dangerous, but if he can be brought in we can stick him with assault charges at a minimum. At least it might keep him busy."

"Good idea Ray. What about Jones?"

Ray looked thoughtful. "Not sure we can do much about him. For one thing, I just don't think he's a danger to Stephanie, and if he really is government, that could buy us way more heat than we want." He shot a telling glance at Welsh's office.

"Shouldn't we, perhaps, keep the lieutenant informed of the mayhem in which we currently find ourselves?" Benton asked.

"What Welsh doesn't know won't hurt him." Ray said, superstitiously checking over his shoulder as in his experience statements of that nature had an uncanny way of attracting the subject of them at just the wrong moment, leading to questions such as "What won't hurt Welsh?" which was exactly what he was trying to avoid in the first place.

"Let's book it. We have a lot of ground to cover." Ray said, and they headed out to Ray's car. They drove slowly around the neighborhood that housed Mrs. Petrov's apartment building, looking out for Stephanie. The first place on the list that Elaine had compiled was a youth coffee shop and hangout in a church basement, but it was closed up during school hours. They drove on, but found no trace of Stephanie at any of the youth services places on the list.

"Ray, perhaps we're taking the wrong approach." Benton said. "If Stephanie's looking for Mrs. Petrov, perhaps looking in the places Stephanie was likely to spend time is counterproductive."

"You mean like we should be looking for a knitting circle or something." Ray said. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"Something like that. We could do worse than to check at the local library, Ray. Mrs. Petrov strikes me as the type of woman who would have wanted to stay informed, and also, they may well have a bulletin board of other activities for seniors in the community."

They pulled into the carpark under the local library and took the elevator upstairs.

"Bingo!" Ray said, as they walked through the electronic security gate. At a table in the reference section, Stephanie was seated with a pile of books. She looked up nervously as they approached, and when she saw who it was, her features creased in an odd combination of relief, guilt and annoyance.

"Uh. Hi." she said. Ray and Benton sat down at the table opposite her.

"Hello, Stephanie." Benton said. "It's good to see you're safe."

"How'd you find me?" Stephanie said.

"Good guess." Ray said.

"Actually, we considered the information that you had given us, and tried to deduce the most logical next step that you would take in finding Mrs. Petrov. But, mostly, as Ray says, it was fortuitous." Benton added.

A librarian came over from the circulation desk.

"You do realize that this is a reference library, not a night club, don't you?" she said, glaring. "If you are going to continue chatting each other up, would you be so kind as to take it outside?!"

"Yes, Ma'am, my apologies, I should have known better, my grandparents, in fact, were librarians in the town of Tuktoyaktuk in the North West Territories of Canada as a matter of fact, so I am familiar-" Fraser withered under her glare.

Stephanie snickered. "It's all right." she said. "Since you, you know, did find me and all, I guess we should talk. I think I found some, like, useful stuff."

"We also made some discoveries." Benton said, sotto voce, as they left the library.

"The sort of discoveries that come with a brick wall to the face." Ray said.

Stephanie finally seemed to register the slightly battered state of her two knights in shining armor.

"Like, oh my god, what happened?" she said as they entered the car park from the elevator.

"Some guys didn't like our attitude." Ray said. "Some guys who want to talk to you pretty badly. We'd rather they didn't."

Stephanie's eyes widened. "Why do they want to talk to me?" she asked.

"They think that you have information that will allow them to find Mrs. Petrov." Benton said. "They're the ones who were responsible for the ransack of your hotel room."

They got into the car. Benton took the back seat where Diefenbaker was lolling, and Stephanie sat in the front seat.

"They might be right." Stephanie said. "I, uh, kinda got bored while you were gone, and I was, like, just messing around with stuff, and I found, you know, some writing, between the bubblewrap, which I was, you know, popping, and the paper on the inside of the envelope that Grandma sent. And, um, I think the rest of the scarf has, like, a code, too."

Ray twitched. The envelope had been on his desk waiting for him to check it in properly as evidence, but nevermind. "Sounds like Mrs. Petrov was on the right track thinking you'd figure this stuff out." was all he said. Dealing with the edgy teenager required a serious application of tact.

"Although I'd like to imagine that she didn't intend you to be in harm's way during the process." Benton added. "For what it's worth, it seems that your foster mother is probably safe in United States custody of some sort."

Stephanie made a small snorting sound. She still didn't like Benton's attitude toward Mrs. Petrov. But she probably needed Ray, not just for protection, but to figure out what to do with the information she had.

Ray said, "Yeah, we ran into some other guys who, if they're what they imply, are technically on our side. Now, they don't want us looking for Mrs. Petrov, and I'm guessing that they have her."

"But you're not going to stop looking?" Stephanie asked anxiously.

"I think we still have a missing persons case and a breaking and entering case here, Zilla. Don't you worry." Ray said.

"Where are we going?" Stephanie asked as they exited the carpark.

"Back to the precinct, I'm afraid," Ray said. "I can't take you home, I can't keep you safe there and-"

"You can't put your family in, like, danger." Stephanie said. "Oh, I totally get it. It's okay."

"I know you don't like hanging out with cops much." Ray said.

"No, it's really okay, you know. You're just doing your best."

"What was written on the inside of the envelope?" Benton asked.

"I've got it here." Stephanie said. She passed him a ripped scrap of heavy yellow paper.

"Ah." Benton said. "Now, that is very interesting."

**Author's Note: This chapter took ages to finish. Every time I'd try to tell the boys they were in way over their head they'd insist they could get out of trouble just fine on their own. Fraser, being educated and all, may even have grumbled something about a _deus ex machina_. And I think they would have got out on their own, eventually, if it wasn't for that pesky Jones showing up.**

My great thanks to the reviewers who are giving me the encouragement to keep at the writing.


	5. Tonight We Dine in Hell

Disclaimer: Don't own / Don't make money / Just want to rokk

Chapter 5 - Tonight We Dine in Hell

"Interesting." Benton said, examining the torn piece of envelope that Stephanie had given him. "I believe this is what is known as an electronic mail address. I wonder what Mrs. Petrov was doing with it."

"Is that what it is? I, uh, guessed it was some kind of, you know, code thing." Stephanie shrugged. "I guess that makes sense. Grandma always kept up to date, she said I should learn computers for the modern world but I, like, sucked in typing class." she was quiet for a moment, then she added: "Oh, anyway, so I guess if you guys are helping me I might as well tell you everything I figured out. So, like, the rest of the scarf after the morse code is all, you know, bumps. I think it's a code too, and I looked up some books on... what was the word you said?" she asked Benton.

"Cryptography?" he ventured.

"Yeah, cryptowhatever. So, like, I think it's called binary. Um. Anyway, I think the rest of the scarf is something like that? Because it has like, two states. Either a bump or a little flat V shape. Same as, like, binary."

"Attagirl!" Ray said. "That's some good thinking."

"Indeed." Benton said. "That should have been obvious to me, but I missed it entirely. It makes perfect sense. Well done."

Stephanie fairly glowed at the praise. "Well, I was, like, pretty good at logic stuff in school. And math stuff. When I was actually, you know, in class. This looks like that kind of stuff."

Benton noticed something from the corner of his eye and turned to look. Somehow, Chernousov's black car had picked them up. "Ray. Company." Fraser said. Ray checked his mirror and saw the car.

"Got it." He turned a corner sharply and picked up the radio. "Elaine, that APB we got out, we got the perps behind us. I don't want to stop to try to make the arrest, we also have Stephanie in the car with us."

"Okay, Ray, I'll pass that on." Elaine said.

The car was still on their tail, and Ray was weaving across lanes trying to lose it. Vassily was leaning out of the black car with a gun, heightening the urgency of putting distance between them. Within two blocks they heard sirens, and two police cruisers joined the parade, behind the black car.

"How'd Chernousov latch onto us again?" Ray asked rhetorically as he steered narrowly around a city bus, the black car clinging to their tail.

"I don't know, Ray. I can only speculate after being run off by Jones, Chernousov decided it was more profitable to continue the search in Mrs. Petrov's neighborhood than to head uptown to try and beard you in the impenetrable den of the police station. I suspect it was merely misfortune that he spotted your somewhat noticeable car again." Benton said. It was a weak explanation even to his ears, because the Russians, for all their brute force approach, seemed resourceful and not lacking in cunning, but he couldn't fathom how else they'd picked the car up but coincidence and a limited number of places to investigate.

Stephanie looked back and forth between the two men with amazement. Ray was driving his great whale of a car as if the steel behemoth were a formula one model responding to the lightest touch of the steering wheel, squeezing it into gaps in traffic that she wouldn't have thought a motorbike would fit in, while Benton was calmly musing in five dollar words about the exact origin of the vehicle tailing them. Neither of them were behaving as if anything particularly exciting was happening, although Ray still found time to yell and gesticulate at other drivers for daring to occupy the space that he wanted to be in at any given time.

"Chernousov, that's the guy that, um, wants to talk to me?" Stephanie asked.

"Yes." Benton managed succinctness. He really didn't want to elaborate.

"And he's chasing us and that guy is, like, trying to shoot at us." The pitch of Stephanie's voice was rising toward hysteria.

"Listen, Zilla, you're in good hands. I know my baby can outrun those guys any day." Ray said. "But this is why we need you to stay put."

"Um. Yeah." Stephanie said, shuddering. "I don't think I'm going to do much complaining about being surrounded by cops tonight."

"Okay, hang on tight." Ray said, as he approached a busy intersection. The light turned red right as he hit the intersection, which gave him a couple of seconds before the light in the other direction turned green, and he floored it, leaving Chernousov tangled in honking cars as he tried to follow. But Chernousov maneuvered his way out of the mess adeptly and Ray had only gained a half a block lead. The cruisers were still close behind Chernousov.

Ray looked over his shoulder, and then at the street ahead. It was clear for a few car lengths in the opposite direction and he pulled out to pass a truck in front, and then when he was back in his own lane, the truck between them and Chernousov, jerked the wheel hard to the right, turning down a side street. As soon as they came to a corner he turned right again, then left at the next block. They drove for a couple of blocks before he felt confident enough that they might have shaken the black car to take the time to pick up the radio and check in with the cruisers.

Unfortunately, while Ray had managed to lose Chernousov, Chernousov in turn had vanished down a side street, evading capture.

"So what do we do now?" Stephanie asked as Ray turned the Rivera back toward the police station.

"Well, that electronic mail address that you showed me appeared to belong to the University of Illinois, if I am reading it right, so I would suggest that we go to the campus and find the department that deals with computing, tomorrow morning." Fraser said. "It should be safe, as long as we make sure that no-one follows us from our known places of residence and work, and it seems like the most logical next step in the investigation."

"Sounds good to me, Frase." Ray said. "We could use a nice, peaceful visit to nerd central."

"I need to get on the bus to New York on Sunday." Stephanie said. "I like, really can't miss the first day of my new job, which is like, Monday."

Benton glanced at Ray. Ray said "We'll talk about that later Zilla." He knew that he'd have to try to dissuade her from going to New York but he was not looking forward to that little chat.

They pulled up outside the precinct.

"Ray, Stephanie, I'm due at the consulate shortly, so Diefenbaker and I will walk over. Stay safe, and we will see you in the morning." Fraser said, as they got out of the Rivera.

Ray whirled on him with a look of intense displeasure.

"The hell are you thinking?" he said. "No, you will not walk over to the consulate. You and I will get Zilla settled with Elaine and then I will drive you to the consulate. You're not on sentry duty, right?"

"No, Ray. Not tonight." Benton said.

"Good. I will watch you go into the consulate before I return here. You will stay at the consulate. You will stay indoors. If anyone attempts to enter the consulate stealthily you will call me and we will dispatch a squad car. You will not attempt to walk home after your shift. You will not leave the consulate until Zilla and I pick you up in the morning. Zilla and I will likewise stay inside the station until the morning. I am not having any of us out wandering about where Chernousov can just pick us off. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" he spluttered to the end of his sentence, hot temper still showing on his face.

Benton raised his hands in a gesture of acceptance. "Understood, Ray."

They took Stephanie into the station and received her assurances that she wouldn't leave during the time that Ray was dropping Benton and Diefenbaker off.

"I don't think I want to meet this guy, Chernousov." she said, shrugging. "I'm good. I'll hang here."

During the drive over to the consulate, Fraser spent a lot of time clearing his throat and hemming until Ray told him to spit out whatever was bothering him.

"Oh it's just... don't forget that Inspector Wheeler and Inspector Thatcher will be joining us tomorrow." Benton finally said.

Ray groaned. "Jeez. I did forget."

"I hope that I'm correct in assuming that the visit to campus will be peaceful." Benton said. "I'd rather the Inspectors were not subjected to the sort of fracas that we were involved with today."

"Benny, they have to have shown at least basic competence to get to be Inspectors, right? I think they can cope. If they insist on tagging along on our case, you shouldn't sweat it. You can't be a perfect gentleman and a perfect mountie at the same time."

"There is wisdom in that, Ray."

Ray watched closely as Benton went in to the consulate, satisfying himself that his partner was safely inside before driving off.

Benton settled in for a quiet evening of paperwork with Diefenbaker at his feet. Most of the time, he really didn't mind paperwork. A desk job would have finished him, but he approached the routine reports associated with his work with the same calm, unhurried thoroughness that he approached other less active aspects of his job, like polishing his boots, or pressing his uniform. It was all part of the rhythm, all part of the duty.

The door to his small office creaked open and he looked up, alert but calm.

"Ah, sir, I was just doing some paperwork." He waved his pen nervously. Inspector Wheeler was standing in the doorway. "I thought you would be out for dinner with Inspector Thatcher and the other delegates." he said.

"Oh, no, Inspector Thatcher seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to spend time with Superintendents Doyle and Kidd, and I thought a nice night in was just what I needed."

Wheeler insinuated herself into the room. She was in plain clothes, a soft, clinging sweater in a shade of blue that accentuated her fair complexion, and grey pants tailored to show her trim figure to its best advantage. It was wasted on Benton, who was beginning to exhibit the symptoms of a bird hypnotized by a serpent. He dropped the pen, picked it up again, made a hasty scrawl on his paper, looked down at what he'd written, made a 'tch' sound and crossed it out, anything but make eye contact with her.

Wheeler walked across to his desk and stood in front of him, her fingertips brushing the surface of the desk.

"Constable Fraser, are you hungry? Because I'm starving." she said, smiling, showing a lot of teeth.

"I, uh, that is. I wasn't planning on, I hadn't thought..." he found himself confused even trying to sort something that simple out, looking for her ulterior motive.

"I know. Look at you, all dedication to duty, not even stopping for a bite." Every word that Catherine Wheeler pronounced managed to sound faintly lewd. Benton found himself turning red. Something in her eyes suggested to him that it was not dinner she was thinking of biting.

"What did you, that is to say, what were you..."

"I thought I'd order out. Chicago has famous pizza. We could have our own little party." It was a perfectly innocent sentence. That didn't explain why it made the hair on the back of Benton's neck stand up.

"Pizza would be fine." he finally replied.

She held out her hand expectantly. "Phonebook?" she said, eventually, as he appeared mesmerized.

"Oh, yes. Of course. I'm sorry, sir."

"Oh, for goodness sakes, Constable Fraser, I must insist that you call me Cathy. I am off duty after all." she murmured.

Benton barely managed to avoid squeaking "but I'm not." and instead went for a non-committal nod.

Wheeler grabbed the phone and ordered a large, deep dish pepperoni. It wasn't exactly the food of romance, but the ridiculously attractive constable appeared to be a simple man, with straightforward tastes.

Benton watched her through narrowed eyes, fidgeting with his pen. He didn't understand what it was about him that seemed to attract women like her, the determined huntress sort, like Ray's sister, oh dear God, Ray's sister. That Wheeler was also technically his superior officer, although not actually the superior officer to whom he reported made him even more wary. And his natural chivalry forbade him doing anything drastic like actually telling her to take her unwanted advances and shove them where a sensitivity training manual wouldn't fit comfortably.

"Do you, ah, mind if I finish my paperwork?" Benton asked, when Wheeler was off the phone. "It's been a busy week."

"No, please, go ahead. If you don't mind some company." She continued to lean on Fraser's desk, watching him write. Diefenbaker lifted up his head and gave her a quizzical look, as if to say "yeah, right." and then dropped it back down onto his paws. At least the female human had ordered pizza, and he was pretty sure that he could score a slice or two.

Wheeler watched silently for a while before she said, "Constable Fraser, what happened to your face?"

"Oh. Ah." Benton looked up through long lashes that concealed the depth of his expression from Wheeler. He didn't especially wish to discuss the Petrov case with someone who he didn't trust completely. Furthermore, the day's events all sounded a lot more dramatic and heroic than he was comfortable describing.

Benton was never at ease talking about the danger that he and Ray often faced in the pursuit of justice. It seemed somehow indecent to dwell on it, somewhere between ghoulish and boastful, neither of which he wished to be. It was the sort of thing he hadn't know about his father until reading about it posthumously in his journals. Benton wished he was as good at self-deprecating little jokes to defuse the questions as Ray was, but he knew he'd never be able to pull off "Some guys didn't like our attitude." without inciting further curiosity.

It was this scene that Meg Thatcher burst in on, a strangely intimate little tableau with Fraser, lips slightly parted, poised on the verge of a sentence while Wheeler leaned over him, holding him in her ardent gaze.

"Sir! I thought you-" Benton stopped his exclamation half way through. It sounded a lot too much like a guilty conscience, which he didn't have, nor any reason for having.

"I don't know what you thought, but I want to see you in my office, now." Thatcher snapped, shooting a glare at Inspector Wheeler that could have frozen lava. Wheeler merely smiled coolly in return. So, Thatcher was threatened by her? That made the chase more interesting, even if it made the outcome less certain. There was a piquancy to the thought of snatching Benton Fraser out from under the icy gaze of his superior officer.

Fraser stood in front of Thatcher's desk, looking at the floor.

"I don't care if you are in some kind of twisted relationship with Inspector Wheeler, but you will not carry on your _fraternizing_" she made the word sound filthy, "in MY consulate."

"But-"

"No buts." Thatcher was in a fine temper. Kidd and Doyle had rushed through dinner like children greedy for dessert and then more or less demanded that she find someone to show them Chicago's finest nightlife. Sometimes the old boy's club atmosphere of the upper ranks really got to her. She was going to take it out on her subordinate whether he deserved it or not.

"Now, Superintendent Doyle and Superintendent Kidd have asked for a favor, and you're the man for the job." she smiled thinly. "I want you to take them out and show them the sights. And by sights, I mean that they have requested that someone familiar with the burlesque establishments of this city show them around." Her smile couldn't have been icier if she'd been perched on top of the North Pole.

"But sir, I don't, in fact, I'm not, not at all-"

"Use a phone book. I'm sure you can work that out." she said brusquely.

"Sir," he protested. "I'd really rather not leave the consulate tonight."

"Are you arguing with an order?" Thatcher snapped.

"No, sir." Fraser said, again looking at the floor. "But I need to call Detective Vecchio and inform him of where I will be." He wasn't happy about the situation, but once again it seemed melodramatic and self-aggrandizing to explain why he was reluctant to obey her. Part of him felt that Ray was overreacting, that it was unlikely that Chernousov would be lying in wait for him, but he also knew that it would put Stephanie in danger if he were captured. He owed it to Ray to let him know that he was going out.

"Do you work for the Canadian Government, or the Chicago Police Department?" Thatcher asked sarcastically, but she waved impatiently at the phone. "Fine, call tweedledum." she said.

Fraser dialed Ray's number.

"Hey, Benny." Ray's voice came down the line. "How's it going? Zilla and me and a couple of the guys are playing poker. If Zilla tells you she never played poker before, don't bet any money on it." He sounded relaxed and cheerful.

"Ray, I, well, Inspector Thatcher has asked me to take two of our visiting colleagues out to see some night spots." Benton said. "I just wanted to inform you, as I know we had previously agreed-"

"Just hang on a sec, there, Frase." Ray said, no longer sounding relaxed. "Let me get this call in Welsh's office, and put Thatcher on, would you?"

"He, ah, wants to speak to you, sir." Fraser said, handing the phone to an annoyed looking Thatcher.

"Now, listen." Ray said. "I don't know what the deal is with these visiting big shots, but you can't send Constable Fraser out of the consulate tonight." He proceeded, in a deadly cold and even tone of voice, to detail precisely the threats that had been made toward Fraser and himself by Chernousov earlier that same day, and added the information about the car following Fraser the previous night. Thatcher's side of the conversation was limited to "I see." at occasional intervals, followed by, "No, of course he won't leave the consulate. I will personally see to that."

There were many kinds of courage that made up being a man. Ray just couldn't understand the sort of courage that would make someone gladly walk outside to face a cold-blooded killer rather than argue with his superior about a direct order. He wished that Fraser could find the words to stand up to Meg Thatcher sometimes.

Thatcher hung up and turned to Benton.

"Why didn't you tell me about these Russians?" she demanded. "Do you think I'm inhuman, that I'd send you out on a babysitting assignment when there are people out there who have threatened your life and know where to find you?"

Benton cleared his throat slightly. "It's not that. I just, well, sir, I didn't like to make a fuss."

Thatcher stepped closer, and found herself looking up into Benton's eyes. "Some things," she said, with a catch in her voice, "are worth making a fuss about." She almost put her hand up to brush the bruise on his jaw with her fingertips but caught herself in time. "That will be all, Constable Fraser. Dismissed." she said abruptly, turning away.

**Author's Note: I don't know, I'd probably rather face the Russians too! As noted earlier, the time frame for this story is important, because when was the last time you had to explain to someone what an email address looked like? Ahhh, the dark ages. I vaguely miss them!**

I hope you're enjoying the story! I've really appreciated the feedback so far. We're over half way through now. Chapter 6, we find out all kinds of interesting if incredibly geeky things, and then Chapter 7 I promise you a lot of excitement.


	6. From Chicago with Love

Disclaimer: Don't own / Don't make money / Just want to rokk

Chapter 6 - From Chicago with Love

"No, Dief, you may not ride along today, and you know full well why not."

Benton Fraser was crouched in front of his deaf half-wolf the next morning, in the front hallway of the consulate, trying to reason with the animal.

"There are going to be five of us in the car as it is. And I know you don't like Inspector Wheeler, so I don't know why you think it'd be fun to sit on her lap."

The wolf whined.

"I know it's a big American car, but even so."

Dief looked at him with a sorrowful gaze, as if to say that he was starving, and anyone with a heart would feed him.

"We're going to a university, anyway. There's not a lot that's of interest at a university for a wolf."

Dief gave a short bark.

"No, universities are not known for their vast supplies of comestibles."

Diefenbaker gave up in disgust and padded off to scrounge pizza from the box on the floor of Fraser's office.

Inspector Wheeler and Inspector Thatcher appeared, both neatly dressed in brown jackets and black pants that matched Fraser's own uniform, with heavy coats on out of respect for the chilly weather. Soon they heard the Rivera's horn, and Benton held the door open for Inspector Wheeler and Inspector Thatcher to leave the consulate, after checking the street for any signs of trouble.

Ray and Stephanie got out of the car. Benton noted that Ray had obviously stopped at home, as he and Stephanie had changed into clean clothes.

"All ready to go?" Ray said, pasting a smile on for Benton's superiors.

"Yes, quite." Thatcher eyed the car. "As there are five of us, I would consider the most appropriate seating arrangement to be for Inspector Wheeler to take the front passenger seat, since she is our honored guest."

Wheeler raised a groomed eyebrow. She'd been planning on squeezing into the back seat next to Fraser. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of that. After all, as Constable Fraser's immediate superior, I believe that you outrank me in this situation. You should take the front seat."

Stephanie locked eyes with Ray, stifling a giggle. He grinned and winked.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly." Thatcher was saying. "It'll be a tight squeeze in the back, and I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

"I'm sure that I'll be entirely comfortable. I insist." Wheeler countered. Was Thatcher implying that she was fat?

Finally Stephanie said, "Well, I'm like, the star witness, so I think I should sit in the front, you know?"

Ray coughed, concealing a snicker. "Yeah, actually, I think Zilla's right."

A scrambled ensued for position in the back seat and Benton found himself wedged between Thatcher and Wheeler in the middle seat, looking into the rear view mirror where Ray's eyes danced with laughter at his expense. He stilled his features into the most perfect expression of indifference possible and settled in to endure what seemed like an interminably long ride to the college campus.

Ray took a few interesting turns to make sure that they weren't being followed before heading in the direction of the campus. Inspector Wheeler leaned in close with the turns, and Fraser was practically levitating off the seat in his efforts to avoid brushing against her. Inspector Thatcher sat ostentatiously rigid, her lips pressed together disapprovingly.

"There was no sign of Chernousov or his goon last night." Ray said conversationally. "And we had a patrol car run past the consulate a couple of times, nothing on that front either. So we should be clear." Nonetheless, he had one eye on the mirror for the whole drive.

Arriving at the U of Illinois campus, they were directed to a computer lab which was full of small grey monitors arrayed on long desks, most occupied by a frantically typing student, even though it was the weekend. There was a sign on the wall that read "NO food OR drink in the lab." Handwritten under that was "Offenders are likely to be eaten by a grue." and in a different pen "Only if I eat with the lights out."

A student stood up from the desk at the front of the room to greet the entourage. He looked like he was around Stephanie's age, dressed in jeans and a faded dark green t-shirt, with dark curly hair framing a mischievous face. He took in the three uniformed people, Ray in his not remarkably civilian looking plain clothes, and then Stephanie, who he smiled at with a definite light of appreciation in his eyes.

"Hi, I'm Andrew, I'm supervising the lab today. Can I help you? I hope no-one's been up to something they shouldn't on my machines." he said, sounding anxious.

"Nah, nothing like that." Ray said, producing his badge. "I'm Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD. This is my partner, Constable Benton Fraser. He first came to Chicago in pursuit of his father's killers, but he stayed for the pie. The other Canadians are just here to observe. We've got a missing persons case and the only active lead we have right now seems to be an electronic mail address at this University."

"Oh, great, I can help with that." Andrew said, sitting down at the computer again. "What's the address?"

Stephanie stepped forward with the scrap of paper and handed to him. He smiled.

"I'm Stephanie, by the way," she said, returning his smile.

"OK, let's see." Andrew started typing. "First off, this is a unix shell, which is the way we can type things in and make the computer do them. I've got root on our mail server. That means I've got serious control over stuff. I'm going to try to log in as the person who this email address belongs to. Email is electronic mail. Following so far?"

Ray scratched his head. Benton looked keenly interested. Thatcher and Wheeler hung back looking bored by the process. Stephanie said "I think I follow. So you pretend like you're grandma, that's who gave me the address, and then you can, like, see stuff that she'd be able to see."

"That's right." Andrew said. "Unix is set up so you have accounts, just like if you had a physical mailbox with a lock. You'd be the only one with the key."

He was staring at a prompt on the screen. "Did you say your grandma set this up?" he asked.

Stephanie said "Yeah, she's like, really smart." defensively.

"I'm sure she is. I'm trying to guess the password. I could get in another way because I'm root but this is probably quicker." He typed rapidly. "'Grandma' it was." he grinned at Stephanie. "Good work."

He typed "PINE" and the screen filled with a text menu. At the bottom of the screen a bracketed line of text read "Folder "INBOX" open with 1 new message." Andrew hit the 'i' key and a screen appeared briefly, with one email message listed. Andrew hit 'v' to open the email message.

Stephanie, Benton and Ray leaned over Andrew's shoulder, holding their breath as the message appeared. Stephanie looked at the text and let out a squeal of frustration. It was more of what looked like garbage text.

"Could this be that, like, thirteen code like before?" she asked Benton.

"No, that doesn't look like simple substitution at all." Benton said. "I'm afraid it's some stronger form of encryption.

Andrew was suddenly very interested.

"Wow, your grandma must be quite the lady." he said. "Any clues on decrypting this?"

Stephanie shrugged and pulled the scarf from her bag. "Actually, yeah, well, you might think it's crazy, but I think this scarf has, um, I looked it up, binary code on it. It was with the email address."

"Pull up a chair and show me." Andrew said. The two put their heads together, ignoring everyone else in the room. Wheeler was tapping her foot impatiently. Thatcher had come prepared and found a spare corner of desk to work on some paperwork she'd shoved in her purse in case a moment arose to get it done. Ray and Benton waited patiently.

"See, there's this little, like, knit in arrow, right here." Stephanie was showing Andrew. "And then, you know, a bunch of the smooth v shaped stitches and the little bump stitches in no kind of regular pattern. Well, Constable Fraser," she looked up at Benton, "looked at the colored parts of the scarf and figured out it was code, which, like, at first I was, no way, but then it made sense. So I went and read about all kinds of codes."

Andrew frowned with concentration. "Yeah, it could be binary." he said. "Ones and zeroes. No reason why not. I wish we had another clue, but we could try just typing it into an editor and seeing if it's a program."

Stephanie looked puzzled, so he explained. "You can type raw binary, the ones and zeroes, into a kind of computer program, like PINE is an email program, called an editor. Because we think the scarf is meant to be a program, we set a flag, um, a label sort of thing, to tell the computer that. We tell the computer it's 'executable.' Then if the pattern on the scarf is meant to be a program, the computer can execute it, which is to say, run it. Just like we ran the mail program, or the editor."

Stephanie thought for a while and then nodded. "Okay, so, like, you type the ones and zeroes into the one program, and it does computer stuff to it to make them into another program that does something, if that's what they're for."

"That's right, more or less." Andrew said, following her convoluted sentence.

"But, like, what if we guess wrong about what is supposed to be a one and what is supposed to be a zero?" Stephanie said. "Is there, you know, some way you can tell the computer to make all the ones into, like, zeroes?"

Andrew grinned. "You catch on fast." he said. "Yes! Because I am brilliant, I can do exactly that with what we call a shell script. That's another sort of program. Now, given the size of the scarf, what you probably have, if anything, is a fairly simple program. You want me to put it in and see what we get?"

"Yes please!" Stephanie said. "This is so cool. I can tell you if it's a bump or a flat one, or do you just want to pick and I can say one or zero, and you can type them."

"Let's say the bumps are zeroes and the flat ones are ones." Andrew said. He typed again at the prompt bringing up the VI editor, and cracked his knuckles. "Let's go." he said.

Inspector Wheeler sidled up to Fraser. "This looks like it might take a while, Constable." she breathed in his ear. "Why don't we go and get some fresh air, and we can look around the campus."

"Ray." Fraser said, through tight lips. "Inspector Wheeler wants to tour the campus. We should show her around."

Ray coughed into his sleeve, hiding a laugh. Could the woman be any more obvious?

"All right, let's go." Ray said. "I could do with stretching my legs."

Wheeler looked disappointed, but the relief on Fraser's face was worth it to Ray. Thatcher's eyebrows raised but she studiously ignored the trio and continued with her paperwork.

They walked upstairs and spent ten minutes wandering about the campus, Inspector Wheeler growing increasingly obviously frustrated as Ray turned on the charm and intercepted all her attempts to get closer to Fraser.

"Ah, I think that Stephanie and Andrew should have had enough time to work on the scarf problem." Fraser said eventually, and they turned back to the lab.

"We did it!" Stephanie squealed, when they walked in the door. "It's, like, an actual real program."

Andrew was beaming. "Yes, she was right. I even know the guy who wrote the code. He has some distinctive signatures in his style. I don't know how Steph's grandma found him, but I do remember him talking a week or so ago about taking a funny paying job that was all hush-hush, but Tom's one of those guys, you know, always got something supposedly big going down."

"So this guy, can we talk to him? He might help with the case." Ray said.

Andrew frowned. "No can do. Afraid Tom was arrested last week on charges of hacking into a Department of Defense mainframe. That's why I freaked a bit when you all walked in."

Benton wondered if Jones were perhaps involved in Tom's legal difficulties. The timing was oddly coincidental. Jones apparently had no compunction about bullying and intimidating all of Mrs. Petrov's neighbors, so would he stop at outright falsifying Federal charges?

"Never mind." Ray said. "So what does this program do?"

"It's great!" Stephanie said. "Basically it's got instructions that say if you run through a message that was encrypted using the same, like... what was that word?"

"Algorithm." Andrew supplied.

"Yeah, algorithm, well, it'll turn it into English."

"We're just about to run Grandma's email through." Andrew said, running his hand through his hair and practically bouncing in his seat. "I saved it as a text file. Here goes."

He typed some more, and recognizably English words filled the screen.

"Your letter awaits, madame." Andrew said, standing up and offering Stephanie his seat with a flourish.

Stephanie switched seats, suddenly looking nervous and clinging to the scarf. She read, brushing away a tear or two. When she was done she looked up at Ray. "You better read this, I don't know what to do." she said.

Ray sat down and read.

"My dearest child,

I am short on time, so I must come to the point quickly. You know that I came from Russia in the bad old days under Brezhnev, and that I risked my life to get out. What you don't know is that before I left I had been a high up member of the Party and in one of the police branches of the Government. I saw so many crimes against the people that I could not stand it any more and defected.

"Now that the old powers have fallen, the new Government is trying to prosecute some of these crimes. I have evidence against men and women who are still powerful and must be brought to justice.

"Naturally, your Government wants to help my Government stabilize things, and they are willing to protect me. Because many people who are powerful do not want me to give my evidence, this is why I have left. I am sorry that you will have come home to find all trace of me gone. (Personally, my dear Stephanie, I think hiding the apartment is a baroque idiocy, but you will learn that one cannot tell some men how to do anything, especially not bureaucrats.)

"I should not have sent you this message, but I am sentimental now that I grow old. I know you will not give up easily, but please, Stephanie, you must trust the people I am with. They are not nice people, but to them, we are still at war.

"I wanted to see you before you went to New York. I didn't know that I would run out of time before then, or I would have told you sooner. You must not go.

"There is an alternative. I have always meant you to have it. I know you have found schooling difficult but I think you are smarter than you know. When I defected from the Soviet Union, your Government gave me payments in return for information. I have always invested these carefully and have set aside a large sum in an account in your name. There is enough there for you to go to college.

"I suggest that you start by taking your GED and then spend a year in community college. I hope by then I will be done with all this nonsense and can return and find you once again. I always thought of you as my own grandchild, Stephanie. If I do not return, it will be because I am unable, not because I am unwilling. Please grow and live up to your potential, and make an old woman happy.

"Your Grandma Petrov."

The bottom of the email was filled with bank account information.

Ray whistled. "She wants you to go to college and left the money for it. That's a pretty sweet deal." he said.

"But she's gone!" Stephanie said in a voice that contained the beginnings of a sob. "I don't care if I go to college. I was never, like, good at school anyway, I just want Grandma back."

Ray put his arm around Stephanie's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Zilla. It's a tough break. But she obviously loves you a lot, to risk contacting you. We met the guys who're protecting her and they don't kid around. We could keep looking for her, if you like, but I don't think it'd be a great idea."

Stephanie buried her head in Ray's jacked a while, and then emerged, red-eyed.

"I don't want to stop looking, but... Grandma really does love me. I just wish she could be here. I feel like I have to do what she wanted, she's been through so much to give me a chance. I just- it's a lot, you know, losing her and then-. Well, I don't want to fail and let her down."

Benton said gently "It's hard to do well in school when you move around a lot. I'm sure with some stability you'd do much better."

Andrew, who was listening avidly said "Come on, Steph, I've only known you half an hour and I can tell you're smarter than most of the freshers here." he grinned playfully and Stephanie began to look less woeful.

"You really think so?" she said.

"Yes." Andrew said. "You took to the hacker stuff like a duck to water. Go do a year of community college then come and try your hand at comp sci. I think you'd be great!"

Stephanie looked as though she was starting to see herself in an entirely different light. "I could really, you know, do this stuff? It does seem pretty cool. And then when Grandma comes back, she'd be so proud of me."

Andrew staggered back, clutching his chest. "Oh my god. A beautiful girl thinks that computer science seems pretty cool. Have I died and gone to heaven?"

Wheeler cleared her throat. "Well, that seems to be that, then." she said. "What now?" The morning was proving to be a wash. She had not pictured standing around in a gloomy lab that smelled strongly of unwashed undergraduate. In her imagination, the day had involved far more being clutched tightly to a broad mountie chest in the face of nameless urban dangers. She admitted to herself that this particular fantasy was both vague and unlikely, but the gulf between reality and hope was distinctly irritating.

Ray shrugged. "We need to put Stephanie in a safe house somewhere until we can pick up Chernousov. Then we can go to the bank on Monday."

Andrew was writing rapidly on a piece of paper which he gave to Stephanie. "I'll make sure your email account stays open." he said. "I wrote down how you can get into it from any other computer that has a telnet client. I wrote down my email address too. And my phone number. And my home address." He tossed his curls down so they covered his eyes and smiled shyly. "That is, if you want to stay in touch."

"That would be totally cool." Stephanie said. "Maybe when all of this is over..." it was her turn to look shy.

Thatcher stood up and put her papers back in her purse. "I gather we're done here. You have the boy's phone number. You can pursue love's young dream at a later date."

Shortly after leaving the campus car park, Ray noticed a car tailing the Rivera.

"How is that even possible?" Ray exclaimed. "I get finding us in the neighborhood yesterday, but how could Chernousov pick us up today?" He accelerated, trying to get distance from the car.

"Ray, I think it's likely that there's some kind of radio tracking device on the Rivera. Chernousov or Vassily could have placed it while we were with Jones yesterday." Benton said, turning his head to look at the car behind them. Once again Vassily was leaning out the window with a gun.

"Do you often get shot at?" Inspector Wheeler asked agitatedly.

"Well, you know, we are law enforcement officers, in Chicago." Ray said sarcastically.

"While that is correct, Ray, it is also true that we have been shot at a statistically improbable number of times compared to the median for members of the Chicago PD on a per annum basis. I can't speculate as to the reason-"

Ray interrupted to wisecrack "It's because no-one can resist taking a potshot at a man who uses phrases like "statistically improbable compared to the median."

Ray's attention was quickly diverted back to driving, as Vassily had, with a combination of luck and skill, succeeded in shooting out one of the Rivera's tires.

The Rivera started to skid out of control and Ray wrestled with the steering, trying to turn out of traffic. He ended up on a street running alongside a narrow but deep stormwater drain before the car finally skidded, nose first, into the barrier of the drain.

Chernousov's car went past the entrance to the street and then reversed to turn down it.

"If we stay in the street we'll be sitting ducks." Ray said. "Everyone out of the car."

The drain proved just barely too wide for them to jump across. Fraser started helping Stephanie, then Thatcher and Wheeler down into it.

"There's some cover, and if we can get over the other side, we'll put some distance between us and Chernousov." he said breathlessly to Ray as the two men dropped down. "He's good with a gun but he didn't look at all athletic. The nearest cross street that goes over the ditch isn't close."

Getting up the other side of the ditch was harder. Fraser boosted Ray over first so he could pull the others up over the barrier. Then he assisted Stephanie over, then Inspector Thatcher, and last, Inspector Wheeler.

After helping Wheeler over, Benton stepped back a pace to take a jump at the barrier. Chernousov's car was now parked next to the side of the drain where Ray's Rivera was crashed, and the Russian was leaning over the barrier, gun in hand.

"Hurry, Frase!" Ray yelled down from behind the barrier on their side of the ditch.

Benton took a deep breath and ran toward the barrier. Mid-air he heard the sound of Chernousov's gun firing. He felt a stinging pain in his side and his breath was knocked out of him. He fell back, landing where he'd started.

**Author's Note: Yes, it's time for the fireworks to begin. Chapter 7 may prove trying for our Constable Fraser, I'm afraid! We're reaching the conclusion, only two more chapters to go. Neither of them are anywhere remotely as nerd-fabulous as this one ;) As always, your comments and feedback are very much appreciated. They do help me keep things on track.**


	7. Mine

**Disclaimer: Don't own / Don't make money / Just want to rokk**

**Chapter 7 - Mine**

Benton rolled to the center of the drain, using the momentum from his fall to get to an angle where Chernousov would not be able to hit him without climbing down into the drain itself. He felt the burning pain where Chernousov's bullet had slid alongside his ribs on his right side, opening up a gash. It was just enough to throw him off balance from his jump and prevent a clean getaway. He had to give the Russian credit for marksmanship. The cruel truth was that a wounded man was far more of a hindrance to escape than a dead man.

Ray yelled from behind the barrier "You all right down there?"

"I'm fine, Ray. Cover me and I'll try to get out." Benton said, sounding a lot more assured than he felt. Running and trying to jump out of the drain would put him squarely in Chernousov's sights. Even with Ray providing covering fire, Chernousov might get a clean shot in.

"Go!" Benton heard Ray yell, and summoning all his courage, he got to his feet and made another run at the barrier. More shots sounded from Ray's gun. Then Ray spat out a very crude word, and as Fraser's fingers wrapped around the top of the barrier the hope of getting out quickly was brought crashing down. A bullet from Chernousov's gun hit Fraser in the right shoulder, once again dropping him to the ground.

This time he landed with a thud at the bottom of the ditch and the pain was decidedly more intense. That bullet had not just grazed him but lodged itself deep in the muscles of his shoulder. He groaned and bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes as he suppressed any louder reaction. His whole body was protesting the trauma. He wasn't sure he could get up and try to get out again, not just because of the physical damage, but he wasn't sure he could stand to let Chernousov keep taking potshots at him, always aiming to hurt, never to kill.

Ray yelled from behind the barrier. "Goddamnit, Benny, my gun jammed. Did he hit you?"

"Ray, he's not shooting to kill." Benton yelled, evading the question. "He's pinning us down. Where's Vassily?"

Ray looked over at Chernousov's position on the other side of the ditch. There was no sign of Vassily.

"Probably trying to flank us." he yelled back.

Ray turned to Wheeler, Thatcher and Stephanie. "Get out of here." he said quietly. "Move out nice and low, so that Chernousov doesn't see you leave. He's pinning us down so that Vassily can move around from behind."

Thatcher shook her head. "I'm staying with my officer."

"Fine. Inspector Wheeler, I am counting on you to get Miss Morisenne out of here safely." Ray said very seriously.

Wheeler nodded. It wasn't that she wanted to be sent away from Constable Fraser either, but she did know her duty. The situation was grave. Getting the girl away and getting help was the best hope for Fraser, for all of them. "I'll do that, and bring backup as soon as I can." She grabbed Stephanie's wrist, and they crawled away, staying down low on the pavement so Chernousov didn't know they'd gone.

Ray reloaded his gun and checked the mechanism carefully to make sure there wouldn't be a repeat problem.

"Okay, Benny." he shouted. "Count of three, I'm going to unload my entire clip in Chernousov's direction. You have to make the jump. Ready?"

Benton licked his lips. He wasn't sure he'd ever be ready, but on three was as good a time as any. "On three, Ray." he confirmed.

"One. Two. Three!" Ray leaned over the barrier, firing shots in quick succession toward Chernousov, giving the man no chance to break cover and fire his own gun.

Benton stood up, staggered slightly, and made one last jump for the barrier. It was amazing how the human mind could triumph over the body in circumstances of extreme need or danger. This was not a time when his finely honed stubbornness would let mere physical reality get in the way of what he needed to do. He managed to catch the top of the barrier with his fingertips again, and found the surprisingly strong arms of Meg Thatcher hauling him over. He felt a wave of nausea at the strain on his shoulder. When Ray had finished firing, Benton found himself lying half way across Inspector Thatcher's lap.

She looked down at him. "Are you all right, Constable?" she asked, realizing how inane that sounded.

"Ah, yes." Benton said. "The wounds are..." he was mesmerized by the dark pools of her eyes, shining with unprecedented concern for him. "...superficial." he managed to say. It was approximately half true. He broke the spell and scrambled to his knees before he could bleed through the heavy serge of his uniform and the wool of his coat enough for her to notice. The graze on his side had all but stopped bleeding, but he knew the hit to his shoulder was much worse. He could only be thankful that apparently his thick layers of clothing had slowed the bullet enough on impact to stop it going right through and leaving an exit wound that would have immobilized him.

"Ray, we need to go." Benton said.

"Ready when you are, Benny." Ray said. "Keep low, we'll go a few yards down the side of the ditch, then we can cut across the street into that parking garage. I don't know where Vassily is, but the nearest bridge over the ditch is a couple of blocks down, so we can get some kind of a lead on them."

They moved cautiously, Ray leading and Thatcher taking the rear. The cars in the parking garage provided cover, which was fortunate because as soon as they were inside, they heard a shot. Vassily had crossed the ditch. Any longer in their previous position and he would have had them sandwiched between him and Chernousov on the other side.

"Okay, we gotta keep moving." Ray said. Benton nodded and immediately regretted the rash action. His head spun. They were moving slowly, which was okay by him, staying down behind rows of cars, and trying to make as little noise as possible. Vassily, in turn, was stalking between rows of cars looking for them. Benton could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead in the cold air. He continued to ignore the pain crashing in on him from his shoulder, although it was harder to ignore the shivers and creeping lightheadedness and the trickle of blood down the skin of his back under his shirt. He concentrated on watching Ray's feet and following them, steadying himself occasionally against the bumpers of cars.

The slow hunt went on for several long minutes before Benton leaned too heavily on the bumper of a Mercedes, causing the alarm to go off raucously. Ray shot Fraser a dark glance.

"Sorry, Ray." Benton murmured, pushing himself off the bumper.

"Just run." Ray grunted. They ran, still crouched over so that Vassily might not see them, or if he did, get good shots at them. Ray lead them up the ramp to the next level of the garage while they were out of Vassily's sight. They ended up in a corner of the garage against a concrete wall, behind a sturdy Nissan minivan, which was big enough to provide shelter. Benton dropped down and leaned back against the wall. Ray stuck his head out quickly from behind the van. Vassily was prowling the far end of that level of the garage, and, more ominously, Chernousov had arrived in the car and was following closely behind Vassily.

"Time to move." Ray said. "Come on. Rest later."

Benton shook his head, slowly. "Sorry." he said again.

"For what? Come on, let's go. If we can get to the elevators we can get down and out before they notice." Ray said. He looked closely at Benton. The man's face was clammy and pale. "Oh, no. Don't do this to me." he said.

"What is it?" Thatcher said, kneeling beside Benton.

"I don't think those bullet wounds were quite as minor as Fraser made out." Ray said.

"Well, Ray, that's not precisely true." Benton said. He noticed his diction was no longer crisp. He made an effort to articulate more clearly. "The first shot really was only a graze."

Thatcher's eyebrows raised in alarm. "The second shot?" she said.

"My shoulder."

Thatcher reached behind Benton to feel his shoulder and pulled her hand back quickly, covered in a lot more blood than she was expecting. She gasped. Benton was already trying to pull a handkerchief out of his pocket for her to wipe her hand.

Thatcher took the handkerchief, her hand shaking. "Why didn't you say...?" she asked.

"There didn't seem to be any point." Benton replied. "We had to move regardless of my physical state. I didn't want you and Ray to worry."

"That's very thoughtful of you and all, but we gotta get out of here." Ray said. "Can you walk if you lean on me?"

"I don't think so, Ray. Everything spins around rather dramatically when I move. My speed would cause too much risk that we would all be easy targets for Chernousov to pick off. Ray, I think perhaps you'd better take Inspector Thatcher and escort her out of here before our Russian friends find us. This does not seem an advantageous position to defend." The last words came out in a distinct slur.

Inspector Thatcher looked impatiently into her subordinate's eyes.

"While your chivalry is admirable, although I might be a woman, I am still your commanding officer and if you think that I am going to abandon one of my men, then you have a very poor estimation of my character." she said firmly.

Benton turned his head to look at Ray with a pleading gaze that reminded Ray of Diefenbaker trying to steal a donut out from under his hand. Meg Thatcher was glaring at Ray as if to dare him to take Benton's side and try to take her away from her downed officer.

"Sorry Benny, no dice." Ray said "The boss lady just saved me from having to make the 'hell no, we are not leaving you here' speech. Frankly, you should know better than to suggest it." He did not look amused.

"Well, Ray, at least they didn't shoot my leg this time." Benton cracked, reminding his partner of the "Please shoot the other leg" sign he had crafted for Fraser the last time he'd taken a bullet. Ray managed a weak grin. Thatcher looked back and forth between them. How could they be joking around?

There wasn't a lot that could be done to dress Fraser's shoulder given the lack of time and resources, so he ended up with the token effort of his handkerchief and Thatcher's equally neatly pressed white square padded under his coat, the weight of the winter garment holding the clean cloth in place. They all knew that what he really needed was an ambulance.

Ray pulled his second gun from his ankle holster and handed it to Thatcher. "I'm low on ammo" he said "but two of us should provide a better line of defense than one."

Benton looked at Ray and slurred "I don't think that Inspector Thatcher has her license to carry here, Ray."

Inspector Thatcher shot a brief, incredulous glance to Ray before continuing to check that the gun was loaded and ready to fire. "Does he have an actual death wish?" she asked.

"Sometimes I think so." Ray said. They took up positions near the front of the van. "Good thing this isn't his jurisdiction or he'd probably try to arrest you when we're done."

"That's ridiculous, Ray." Fraser said faintly, sounding ever so slightly affronted. "Of course I wouldn't arrest Inspector Thatcher. If we were in my jurisdiction, there wouldn't be a problem with her having a gun in the first place."

Ray had to laugh. Even under these particularly trying circumstances, Fraser could never be anything but his hyper-logical self.

Fraser closed his eyes. Vision was not his greatest asset, stuck behind the van and slumped against the wall, but his hearing was still sharp, and he focussed on that, refusing to succumb to the welcoming darkness that seemed to beckon at the edges of his consciousness.

There followed an unnerving wait. Ray and Thatcher crouched tensely as Vassily, shadowed by Chernousov in the car, slowly patrolled the length of the garage. Vassily was looking under every car. Ray willed him to move faster, to get in range.

There was no chance that they could stay totally hidden, that Vassily and Chernousov would just pass their corner by. Ray was waiting for them to come into range so that he could force them to take up their own position at the greatest distance possible. Ideally, he could take Vassily out entirely, but from the angle behind the cover of the minivan, it was going to be hard to get a perfect line of sight down the garage.

Ray made a slight murmur of frustration. "Can't get a clean shot on him." Thatcher poked her head up briefly. "I have it." she said, and stood, steadied herself and fired her weapon. Vassily hit the ground as she ducked back down. Benton listened. "You hit him," he said, "but he's not dead."

Ray peered out. Chernousov's car had stopped and Vassily was crawling behind it. "Nice shooting, Inspector." he said. He fired a couple of shots into the windshield of the car, but Chernousov had already ducked down low and was climbing out of his door on the side away from Ray, and Ray didn't want to waste bullets.

"Thank you." Thatcher said with a small smile. "Maybe between us we can hold them until Inspector Wheeler brings reinforcements."

"Thankfully they don't seem to have realized that the Inspector and Stephanie escaped." Benton said. He couldn't bear to think of what Chernousov would have done to Stephanie to try to extract information she did not have about Mrs. Petrov if he'd caught her.

Chernousov popped up from behind the hood of his car and fired a few times in the direction of the minivan. Ray and Thatcher took turns returning fire, but it was a pretty even standoff. There was no way they were letting Chernousov get out from behind his car to get in closer to them, and with his expert aim he had them cornered, limited to taking the best shots they could and then ducking back behind the van.

Benton listened carefully. He heard the shots, counted them, heard the ricochets, Chernousov reloading. The Russian was trying to buy his way out from behind the car to a more advantageous position with heavy fire. Then Benton heard something else. Something very faint. A rustle of cloth, close. They'd counted Vassily out after Thatcher shot him, but it had to be him. Too close. Benton opened his eyes suddenly, remaining motionless.

Vassily was under the minivan with his back to Fraser. He must have taken Fraser for unconscious. Fraser quickly surmised that Vassily must have worked his way around the garage using the row of cars behind Chernousov's car as cover to get to the far end, before slipping back down the row of cars on their side of the garage to approach the minivan. Fraser suddenly saw that Chernousov's plan to pin them down and surprise them from behind was still in effect, even if it had been delayed by Fraser's escape from the ditch.

Vassily was facing Thatcher and Ray with his gun raised to fire, and Benton followed the angle of it with his eyes. It was aimed squarely at Inspector Thatcher's head. Feeling a thrill of horror, Benton yelled "SIR! DOWN!" Thatcher ducked as Vassily squeezed the trigger, and the bullet that would have killed her flew harmlessly past, ricocheting off the concrete wall and shattering the window of a nearby car.

At the same moment as Vassily fired, Benton launched himself across the tiny space between the wall and the van, grabbing the hand with the gun and wrenching it, forcing Vassily to drop the gun. Vassily rolled out from under the van and grappled with Benton. Ray and Thatcher could spare no more than glances behind them. Chernousov was trying to press the advantage of the distraction to get closer, which presented a lethal danger to all of them.

Compared to Benton's diminished strength, Vassily was in fine form. He was wearing a bulletproof vest, which explained why Thatcher's bullet hadn't stopped him. He was fighting to kill. Any advantage he could take, digging his fingers into Benton's bloodied shoulder, gouging at Benton's face with his thumbs, he tried for. The cramped corner they fought in kept him from getting as much leverage as he might have otherwise, and the fight was a rolling, brutish tangle of elbows and knees.

But Vassily was fighting to kill from habit, because it was a job. There was no emotion behind it. Conversely, from the moment that Benton had seen the angle of Vassily's gun and realized the danger to Thatcher, a bright neon sign flashing "MINE!" had switched on in his subconscious and triggered deep protective instincts.

He was furious, a blind, raging anger unleashed, the more potent for having been kept under relentlessly tight control, like a steam valve suddenly blowing out under pressure. It wasn't long before he had the upper hand, kneeling over Vassily, the collar of Vassily's jacket clutched in his numb right hand. Vassily fought back, getting a crushing grip on Benton's shoulder, expecting the sheer force of the pain to back his opponent down. It was to no avail. Benton didn't even feel it. He didn't see the man beneath him, just the threat to his people, Ray and Thatcher. His left hand was bunched in a fist, punching Vassily's face over and over. When Vassily finally lay still beneath him, Benton, panting heavily, said "Cuffs, Ray." He felt like he was shaking himself out of a waking nightmare.

Ray tossed him the cuffs and Benton rolled Vassily over to cuff his hands behind his back. As he snapped the cuff onto Vassily's left wrist he saw that the man had his right hand in his pocket and was trying to snake it out surreptitiously. He grabbed the wrist, expecting a knife or a gun, but he saw that Vassily held a small white pill. He squeezed the hand until Vassily dropped it, and then he cuffed the right wrist to the left, and picked up the pill and pocketed it.

"That won't be necessary." he said gently. The look on Vassily's face was murderous. It was obvious that he would have preferred death to capture. Benton sat firmly on Vassily's back. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to throw up or pass out more urgently. He listened again, and smiled tiredly. "Ray!" he said. "Sirens!"

Soon the garage was full of flashing lights and noise as three patrol cars pulled up and a team of heavily armed uniformed police officers wearing bulletproof vests surrounded Chernousov's car.

"Put your weapon down, sir." One of the police officers shouted.

Chernousov stood. He held his gun down in a non-threatening posture. "You wish me to surrender." he said. "That is dishonor. I salute those who defeated me, but I do not surrender." He lifted his gun, and using his impeccable skills one last time, shot himself, fatally, in the head.

Then everything was happening loud and fast. Ambulances joined the symphony of sirens. Two of the armed officers came and took Vassily. Benton dropped back onto the concrete floor, relieved not to be responsible for the killer any more. Stephanie ran across from one of the police cars, squealing with joy and throwing her arms around Ray, babbling almost hysterically the entire time.

"We ran for like, five blocks, and there wasn't a single cop, and Inspector Wheeler was, you know, really worried they'd shoot me, and we were just like, so happy when we saw a cop, and then it took him ages to listen to us but then some guys radioed that there were gun shots and it was all really crazy, and Ray, I thought they were going to kill you, I was so scared! But you're all right, you're all alive, oh my god, it was so scary, and I thought they were..."

Ray hugged back with an embarrassed but not entirely ungrateful expression. "Calm down Zilla, it's all over now. You did good, you and Inspector Wheeler." He smiled warmly at Wheeler. He didn't have to like her, but he could respect her as a fellow law enforcement officer, and she'd really come through in the crunch. He was even more impressed by Thatcher's shooting, and he turned to tell her so. It would have to wait. Inspector Thatcher clearly had more important business to attend to.

Benton's eyes kept fluttering closed. He was trying to keep track of everything going on, but the noise was all muddled together and he was straining to make out individual sounds. He was irrationally afraid to lose his fine thread of concentration, fearing that if he did, something terrible might happen and he wouldn't be able to stop it. He squinted and ran his tongue over his lower lip, willing himself to stay alert. The point at which physical reality finally overcame willpower loomed close, but he fought it desperately.

And then Meg Thatcher was crouching beside him, taking his uninjured arm and putting it over her slim shoulders, helping him to his feet, holding him upright with her arm around his waist.

Seeing the struggle to retain control in Fraser's eyes, Thatcher wanted to comfort him, to tell him to let go, that they were safe now, but soothing words came awkwardly to her. As it turned out, the words she chose were exactly what Fraser needed to brace him.

"Come on, Constable." she said dryly. "Don't just loll about there. Now all the shooting is over, let's get those grazes of yours looked at."

He leaned on her, letting her support his weight. "Yes sir. That sounds..." he took a deep breath, feeling a renewed energy and clarity flood in with the air. He liked the way her hair smelled, and the way it felt to have his arm around her. Most of all, he liked that she was alive. "...wonderful."


	8. The Good Guys

Disclaimer: Don't own / Don't make money / Just want to rokk

Chapter 8 - The good guys

Sunday was quiet. Fraser spent the day in his apartment, reading. Diefenbaker was still sulking about being left at the consulate and missing all the excitement. Fraser was grateful for the respite from being around people, and he dove into his father's journals, his closest connection to the open lands that he missed so fiercely while he was far from them. It was his own decision to stay in Chicago rather than take a transfer back to the remotest depths of Canadian wilderness, but when he'd had too much company and noise, he definitely felt the old longing for a drifting ice floe or a lonesome mountain peak.

The day before, on returning to the consulate from the emergency room with his arm in a sling, Benton had been quite relieved to be called into Thatcher's office and read the riot act for twenty minutes on the inadvisability of misleading one's superior officers about the extent of one's injuries. He had not even stammered once during his 'yes sir'ing of the lecture. It was probably for the best to have the delicate equilibrium of his working relationship with Meg Thatcher restored after her surprising moment of tenderness. He still didn't always know what to make of her, but a recommencing of hostilities actually seemed like a good sign. Things were much less confusing that way, and he didn't have to think about what his own feelings might be.

Monday morning found Benton at the consulate early, in his office before sentry duty. Inspector Wheeler knocked and let herself in.

"Constable Fraser. Today's the last day of the conference, and I wanted to say goodbye in case I don't see you again."

Fraser jumped to his feet.

"I hope you've found Chicago pleasant." he said.

Wheeler came close to him, too close for his comfort. Still, his arm in the sling was an effective barrier between them.

"Constable Fraser. Benton. I've made it no secret that I find you a very attractive man." Wheeler said.

Fraser didn't reply. He shifted from one foot to another.

"However, you could have saved me from making a fool of myself by just telling me that you and Inspector Thatcher are together."

Fraser gasped. "But, sir, we're not. I mean, she's my superior officer, and I would never-"

Wheeler put up a hand to stop his protests.

"I know it's against the rules but you don't have to lie to me. Frankly with the pair of you all the way down here in Chicago, no one is ever going to know. Or care for that matter."

"No, really, I don't. We're not." Fraser blushed. "I respect Inspector Thatcher as a person and of course she's a, ah, woman, but she's, our relationship is entirely. Well. Professional, that is to say."

Wheeler looked into Fraser's eyes. He wasn't lying. She shook her head slowly.

"Oh dear god. Then the pair of you are even bigger idiots than I thought."

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Good bye, Constable Fraser. It's certainly been an interesting visit. I hope our paths cross again someday soon." With that, she turned and left his office, leaving him standing dumbstruck.

Ray came by to pick up Fraser and Diefenbaker after Fraser's sentry duty. Ray was in a loaner car, the Rivera in the shop for some body work after the collision with the drainage ditch barrier on Saturday. Benton slid into the back seat with the wolf. Stephanie was in the front passenger seat, fidgeting nervously with her grey shawl.

"Now, we have all the account information so this should be pretty straightforward." Ray said reassuringly as they drove toward the bank.

"I don't know." Stephanie said, twisting the ends of the shawl between her fingers. "I just, you know, never really went into a bank before. We, like, never had any money that wasn't whatever cash Mom got, or, um, credit cards."

"They don't bite, and we'll be right beside you." Ray said with a smile. "You'll be fine."

After Ray parked, they stood outside the double glass doors of the bank building while Stephanie nerved herself up to go inside. Taking a deep breath, she stepped toward the sliding doors.

Inside, they went up to a teller, who took Stephanie's details. "Just a moment," the teller said. "I'm going to ask you to speak to the manager."

Stephanie looked anxious, but Ray gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll be right beside you." he said. The teller came from behind the counter and lead Stephanie and Ray to a large mahogany desk with a middle-aged balding man behind it. Fraser hung back. Stephanie didn't need both of them looking over her shoulder.

"Stephanie Morisenne?" the manager said, standing and shaking Stephanie's hand. "I'm Mark Goffin, the manager of this branch. I'm very pleased to meet you. Sit down, sit down, please." He was all smiles.

Stephanie and Ray sat.

"Now," said Mark. "I helped set up this account myself, for your friend Mrs. Petrov. A remarkable woman, remarkable."

Stephanie nodded. "Grandma is just amazing." she said. Ray had to agree.

"I wanted you to sit down because I'm afraid you may find this startling. Miss Morisenne, you are really quite well off indeed, I'm pleased to say. Some of the investments that Mrs. Petrov made in the last few years paid off very well, yes, very well. Better even than she anticipated, I'm very happy to tell you." He slid a piece of paper across to Stephanie whose eyes opened wide. The number on it was in the low six figures, and definitely not something she had ever expected to see in a bank account with her name on it. Ray whistled.

"Although it's irregular, Mrs. Petrov did ask me to take care of you personally. It's not a large account by most standards, but for someone in this neighborhood, and, well, Miss Morisenne, if I may speak frankly, of your financial background, it might be overwhelming. Expecting that this day would come, I've put together a list of trustworthy independent financial advisors for you. You don't have to make any decisions right now, but until Mrs. Petrov herself is free to advise you, I would suggest dealing with one of them."

"Wow," Stephanie said. "I mean, like, she said there'd be enough to go to college, but..."

"Yes, I think with the correct financial planning, you may be able to attend whichever college you choose." Mark smiled. "It really isn't often that I have the privilege of sharing this kind of news. It makes a change, I can tell you."

Stephanie swallowed. "Wow." she said again. "I'd give it all up to have Grandma back, but... wow. She really did want to look after me." There were tears mingled with the astonished, unbelieving smile on her face.

Fraser watched the tableau from where he was standing, smiling at the expressions that passed like quicksilver over Stephanie's face. Suddenly, he had an eerie feeling of being watched. He turned around, and sure enough, there was the man who called himself Jones, just inside the door of the bank building, with his bullet-headed driver standing behind him looking around cautiously.

Fraser walked over to Jones, his jaw set in a stern expression. Chernousov might be dead and Vassily safely locked away but that didn't mean he wanted Jones anywhere near Stephanie either. He positioned himself squarely in front of Jones, ready to stop him physically if the man was even thinking of approaching the desk where Ray and Stephanie sat.

"Constable Fraser." Jones said, with a half-smile. "At ease. I told you before, we've got no interest in the girl."

The tension in Fraser's body relaxed microscopically.

"What do you want?" he asked, almost rudely compared to his usual formal mode of address.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you." Jones said. "Step outside a minute with me? No, I'm not armed." he lifted his hands up to show they were empty. "You can consider it a request."

"You couldn't have come to the consulate where, without a doubt, you know I work?" Fraser asked as they walked outside, his tone of voice still clipped and hard.

"Aw, don't make anything of us coming here." Jones said. "I'm a very busy man. It was more expedient to find you here."

And a naked show of power, Fraser thought. They wanted to let him know that wherever he was, they could find him. Well, he already knew that, and he wasn't going to let it disturb his peace of mind. Also, it saved him the trouble of tracking down Jones to clean up some unfinished business.

"You still haven't told me what you want." he said to Jones when they were standing outside the bank away from listening ears.

"No small talk, I see." Jones said. "Well, as a matter of fact, you fellas did us a big favor staying on the case, even though it would have been smarter to take my advice. To tell you the truth, Petrov had no business playing Mickey Mouse code games with the girl in the first place. She should have known better. But you had Chernousov running around all over town after you like a tomcat in heat, and that helped us out a lot. Petrov is safely clear of the country."

Fraser shrugged. "And?" he said.

"Constable Fraser, have you ever considered a career in intelligence? We don't directly employ foreign nationals, but we could use a man of your talents on a strictly consulting basis."

Fraser laughed shortly. "I don't think that I would find that it suited me, Mr. Jones." he said.

"Now, hear me out. You fellas took down Chernousov and he's been bothering a lot of people a long time. Sure, you didn't bring him in alive, but considering that he's left a trail of deceased civilians and law officers across the country over the decades, some people might regard getting out alive, nevermind terminating his career, as quite an achievement.

"And I heard that you, Constable Fraser, were personally responsible for Vassily being unable to execute his exit strategy, and that was some top class work - Vassily's a pro at hand-to-hand. I heard you really messed his face up." Jones said, as if beating on a suspect were something to be proud of. "You'd never think it to look at you. I guess it's true that it's the quiet ones we have to keep a eye on."

A momentary flicker of pain passed through Fraser's eyes. He wasn't ashamed of what he'd had to do, but he knew full well that he had not been in the perfect control of his emotions that he would have liked while subduing Vassily, and he did regret that. "I did what I felt necessary to defend my colleagues and myself." he said, his tone of voice still a steady, uninflected monotone. "If the suspect wishes to complain of excessive force, I'm sure that the appropriate inquiries will be made with all fairness due to the parties involved."

Jones blinked. He was startled. Clearly the mountie was playing a game, and what game, Jones did not quite know, but figuring people out, what made them tick and how they could be used to his advantage, was the bread and butter of his work.

"You don't have to worry about any inquiry, Constable. I don't think it's saying too much about his role with the opposition to tell you that the boys in Langley are very excited to have the opportunity to interface with him, thanks to you." Jones said jovially.

Fraser's face grew very still before he spoke.

"I didn't prevent Vassily from committing suicide because I wanted your people to be able to question him. I prevented him from suicide because I believed it was not time for the end of his story to be written. I believed that his life might yet have a second chapter, that he might redeem himself. I could not see him throw his life away after spending the whole of it brainwashed in a cruel ideology, used by a political system as a killing machine. Who knows what his future could hold? Was that freedom to make one's own life not the entire reason for defending the West against the crushing machinery of the Soviet Union?"

Jones stared at Fraser with open astonishment. His professional caginess cracked. "Do you really believe the words that come out of your mouth?" he asked.

"Yeah, he does." Fraser heard Ray answer in a tone of voice with a decidedly aggressive edge to it.

Ray had seen Fraser leaving the bank with Jones, a circumstance that made him uneasy. He excused himself with the bank manager and Stephanie and slipped out of the bank to make sure everything was okay. Now he stood beside Fraser and put his hand on his shoulder. "See, Constable Fraser here is one of the good guys. One of the really, truly good guys."

Fraser started to protest and Ray shushed him. "I'm talking here."

"He genuinely believes that people are fundamentally decent. He believes that if you extend trust to someone, they'll live up to that and behave in a trustworthy manner." He added mentally "And he's got the scars to show for it."

"Why, Mr. Jones, Constable Fraser probably even believes that _you_ are capable of redemption. Me, I think people are mostly assholes, and that goes double for you, you piece of shit."

Ray was exuding enough menace that Jones's driver stepped a pace or two toward them until Jones waved him back.

"You think it's all right to use a homeless seventeen year old girl as a pawn, let her get run around after by cold blooded killers because it helps your part of the game? Newsflash, buddy, the cold war is over and your pathetic spy games aren't worth a damn if you can't protect the people who need it most."

Jones continued to smile coldly. "Are you finished?" he said.

Ray nodded. "I'm done with you." he said contemptuously.

'Very well then. Constable Fraser, I had hoped that we could leverage your unique skillset, but if you don't want to cooperate, then we have a situation. If our paths cross again and you get in my way, I regret to say I won't be able to extend the same professional courtesies toward you that I did this time. You may trade on people underestimating you, but fella, I have your number. I hope you understand me."

Fraser had to put a hand up to stop Ray from reacting very badly to the threat underneath Jones's verbosity. It wasn't worth it. Jones wasn't worth as much as breaking a fingernail over.

"I think you've made your position quite clear." Fraser said. "Now, I have a proposition of my own for you. I think I could create a lot of negative attention around some of your more dubiously legal actions that could embarrass your Government, Mr. Jones. I know you believe that the ends justify the means, so you will appreciate that I am applying this philosophy in dealing with you."

Ray looked at his partner curiously. What was he playing at? In Ray's experience, that particular hardness in Fraser's eyes spelled deep trouble for whoever was on the receiving end of it. A moment ago he'd been feeling protective of his partner, now he almost felt sorry for Jones. Almost.

"Mr. Jones, if you don't wish me to do my utmost to cause you trouble, and you have admitted that I have the ability to do so, I want to hear very soon that any charges against the young man who helped Mrs. Petrov create the electronic mail contacting Stephanie have been dropped."

Ray twigged. He should have seen that. It was too much of a coincidence that the one person who'd known some of Mrs. Petrov's plans had been conveniently arrested and moved out of their reach. Of course Fraser couldn't let an innocent young man face prison, even if it meant playing with fire, which he certainly was.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jones said. "I have no idea who this fella is that got arrested, but it's nothing to do with me."

Fraser smiled in a way that discomforted even Ray. His lips curved to show white, sharp teeth, but his were eyes empty of any measure of friendliness or mercy. "I think you're bluffing, but I'm not. If I don't get what I want, I will do what I said I would. I'm sure there are a lot of people who will be very unhappy if I go to extraordinary lengths to discredit you.

"Your personally cavalier attitude to the laws of your land, which I choose to believe does _not_ reflect the overall merit of your agency, wouldn't stand up to public scrutiny. Do you care to risk that?"

Jones stared hard and long at Fraser, his jaw clenched. He'd said he wasn't going to underestimate the Canadian, but he had. The man was unflinching under Jones's stare, acting just as if he hadn't just handed Jones a gilt-edged invitation to dispose of him before he could deliver the trouble he promised.

Jones hadn't thought that anyone had made the connection between the arrest of the young programmer and Mrs. Petrov. It was true that as things stood, Fraser could cause them quite a bit of grief. To prevent that, Jones would either have to make a concession he'd prefer not to, or arrange a convenient accident for the mountie.

But then, that would have ripples outward too. As much as Jones hated to agree with the Canadian, there were still things that separated their side of the smouldering cold war from the bad guys, and not 'disappearing' allies, however annoying, was definitely one of them. He should have left them to Chernousov in the first place, he thought bitterly.

"You win, this time." Jones ground out. "But I'm watching you. One step out of line, and-" His eyes completed the threat that he didn't voice aloud. He would take great pleasure in taking down the mountie given the opportunity. It was rare in his career to have to admit defeat, more still to someone whose motives he couldn't begin to fathom.

"Understood. Good day to you, then." Benton said, taking distinct pleasure in maintaining perfect composure in the face of the provocative agent.

Jones and his driver went back to their car. Ray and Benton turned to go back into the bank.

"You had me sweating bullets there." Ray said.

"I admit, that wasn't the most pleasant interview I've ever had, but I think it was worth it." Benton replied. "It takes a direct approach to get through to some people."

"So what's that now, the RCMP, the FBI, the ATF, and now we can only guess what agency that you've pissed off? One more for the alphabet soup." Ray said.

"When you put it that way, it does sound as if I make a career out of causing distress to law enforcement bodies." Benton said, frowning slightly.

"Yeah, well, so long as you keep hanging around causing distress to the Chicago PD, I'll be happy" Ray said. "Do me a favor and take a break from getting yourself shot, would you?"

Benton rolled his eyes. "It's not as if I LIKE getting shot." he said.

"So that's that." Ray said, as they entered the bank. Stephanie was still going over papers with Mark, but she looked up and smiled when she saw Ray and Benton.

"Yes, I think that wraps up everything." Benton said. "Mrs. Petrov is safe, Stephanie is going to be all right. I assume you'll continue to take an interest in her wellbeing."

Ray nodded. "Yeah, for one thing, Ma is going to want to feed her a while longer."

"I'm glad Ray. Your mother's cooking is excellent." He knew it was more than that, though. The girl had found more family to fill the missing places in her life.

"And of course the Russians are taken care of, and that young man should be released from custody soon." Benton said with a small, satisfied smile. "Oh, and Inspector Wheeler will be returning to Canada."

"I'll be glad to see the back of her." Ray said. "Maybe things will get back to normal, or what passes for normal around here."

Benton said, "Yes. It should be peaceful. There's just one thing I don't understand though, Ray."

"What's that Benny?"

"Well Ray, I appreciate you standing up to Jones on my behalf," he paused to look at his partner, "but aren't you always telling me that I'm crazy for trusting people so much?"

Ray smirked. "Yeah, but the difference is, I'm your friend. Friends are the ones who can tell you you're crazy and not make you mad."

"Ah." said Benton. He looked thoughtful, then smiled and said "I think I understand. In that case, I think you're crazy too, Ray."

Ray laughed and punched his partner on the arm. "Now you're getting the hang of it."

**Author's Note: Whew, all done. I hope you've enjoyed the story, and thank you for reading.**

Confidential to pigtailedgirl (because I can't email back.) Thank you for reviewing! There's a bit of foreshadowing in chapters 2 and 5, but mostly it comes from experiencing a situation in which the same possessive instinct was triggered (though thankfully I was NOT called upon to pound the stuffing out of anyone.)

On a personal note, I need to start planning for NaNoWriMo this month. I did it in 2004 and 2005, but last year there was a family tragedy and I couldn't. I know we're all writers in this together, so good luck to everyone who's planning to participate! It's not until Nov, but I need to get with the obsessive note-making. I've got some noir to plan. After that, I'll probably back to torment moose and squirrel... I mean mountie and cop... once again.

Oh, one more thing, I wrote this just to say thank you to all my awesome reviewers. I can't swear it's in character, but it should be fun!

Outtake: Thatcher vs. Wheeler smackdown.

Monday morning. Round 1, fight!

Inspector Thatcher watched Constable Fraser take up his sentry position. She had a job to do. Strictly speaking, not a job. Fraser hadn't complained about Inspector Wheeler's behavior. He was too much of a gentleman ever to breathe a word about the woman's propositions. So there was no question of taking Wheeler to task formally. No, this was going to be personal. The gloves were off.

Thatcher cornered Wheeler in her room, packing. Wheeler had the good sense to look nervous. "Inspector Thatcher." she said. "I'm looking forward to telling everyone back home what a simply marvellous job you're doing down here." she simpered, appealing to Thatcher's naked ambition to look well in the eyes of her superiors.

Thatcher rolled her eyes.

"Let's not play." she said. "You know what I'm going to say."

Wheeler laughed. "That boy says you two have a strictly professional relationship. He must be blind."

Thatcher's dark eyes shimmered with anger. "That's exactly what we have. He is my subordinate and as such, anything other than a professional relationship would be abusing the trust placed in me, even if I were interested, which I'm not. I have had my issues with Constable Fraser's performance, but I made a mistake when I blamed your disgraceful behavior on him." She took a step closer to Wheeler, who backed away.

"I've been watching you." Thatcher said. "It was impossible not to. You couldn't have made your intentions clearer if you'd written them across your chest in marker pen and flashed him, which quite frankly, I'm almost surprised you didn't resort to." The poison tongue that had done its share of scolding Fraser was turned in full force on Wheeler now.

"Benton is a big boy. He's a full-grown, perfectly competent adult." Wheeler said defensively. "Don't you think he can take care of himself, without Mommy having to come along and scare off the big bad wolf? If he wanted me to stop teasing him, he's capable of speaking for himself."

Thatcher shook her head, anger still distorting her features. "As much as it frustrates me to say it, while Constable Fraser has some exemplary qualities, his social skills seem to have stopped developing some time in Victorian era. As such, I feel a responsibility to step in and do what he can't, or won't." If there was more to her defense of Fraser, she wasn't admitting it to Wheeler any more than she was admitting it to herself.

"You should be ashamed of taking advantage of the Constable's natural reticence and courtesy. You've done nothing but make yourself look pathetic while making a fellow officer profoundly uncomfortable. I may not remember much from the snowmobile repair classes at the academy, but I do remember my hand-to-hand combat training, and I promise you, if I ever hear that you've been bothering Constable Fraser again, I will teach you a memorable lesson." Thatcher tossed her head, hands on hips, the tension in her body underlining the seriousness of her statement.

Wheeler laughed nervously. "Fine. You can keep him. The inexperienced ones are just no fun unless you have lots of time to -"

She didn't finish that sentence. Thatcher finished it for her with a backhanded slap, before stalking out of the room.

END


End file.
